He reached the dirt road that led through the overgrown grass into the untamed glen that protected Herr Oberst’s house from prying eyes. Three minutes later he stopped in front of the path that led to the cottage. The door opened; Helden came out to greet him. How lovely she looked, so like Gretchen.
They exchanged a brother-and-sister embrace, both anxious to begin the meeting with Herr Oberst. Helden’s eyes conveyed her bewilderment. She led him inside the small, spartan house. Herr Oberst stood by the fireplace. Helden introduced the two men.
«This is a moment I shall treasure throughout my life,» said Tennyson. «You’ve earned the gratitude of Germans everywhere. If I can ever be of service to you, tell Helden, and I’ll do whatever you ask.»
«You’re too kind, Herr von Tiebolt,» replied the old man. «But according to your sister, it’s you who seek something from me, and I can’t imagine what it is. How can I help you?»
«My problem is the American. This Holcroft.»
«What about him?» asked Helden.
«Thirty years ago a magnificent thing was done, an incredible feat engineered by three extraordinary men who wished to make restitution for the anguish inflicted by butchers and maniacs. Through circumstances that seemed right at the time, Holcroft was projected to be a key factor in the distribution of millions throughout the world. I’m now asked to meet with him, cooperate with him…» Tennyson stopped, as if the words eluded him.
«And?» Herr Oberst moved forward.
«I don’t trust him,» said the blond man. «He’s met with Nazis. Men who would kill us, Helden. Men like Maurice Graff, in Brazil.»
«What are you saying?»
«The bloodlines reemerge. Holcroft is a Nazi.»
Helden’s face was stretched in shock, her eyes a mixture of anger and disbelief. «That’s absurd! Johann, that’s insane!»
«Is it? I don’t think so.»
Noel waited until Helden left for work before placing the phone call to Miles, in New York. Their night had been filled with love and comfort. He knew he had to convince her they would go on; there was no predetermined ending to their being together. He would not accept that now.
The telephone rang. «Yes, operator, this is the Mr. Fresca calling Lieutenant Miles.»
«I thought it had to be you,» said the man whose voice had no matching face for Noel. «Interpol reach you?»
«Reach me? There are men following me, if that’s what you mean. I think it’s called a ‘trace.’ Put out by you?»
«That’s right.»
«You gave me two weeks! What the hell are you doing?»
«Trying to find you. Trying to get you information I think you should have. It concerns your mother.»
Noel felt a sharp pain in his chest. «What about my mother?»
«She ran.» Miles paused. «I’ll give her credit; she’s damned good. It was a very professional skip. She went the Mexican route, and before you could say ‘Althene Holcroft,’ she was a little old lady on her way to Lisbon with a new name and a new passport courtesy of dealers in Tulancingo. Unfortunately, those tactics are outdated. We know them all.»
«Maybe she thought you were harassing her,» said Noel, with little conviction. «Maybe she just wanted to get away from you.»
«There’s no harassment. And whatever her reasons, she’d better realize that someone else is aware of them. Someone very serious.»
«What are you telling me?»
«She was being followed by a man we couldn’t place in any file anywhere. His papers were as counterfeit as hers. We had him picked up at the airport in Mexico City. Before anyone could question him, he slipped a cyanide capsule in his mouth.»
29
A meeting ground was chosen. There was a vacant flat in Montmartre, on the top floor of an old building, its owner an artist now in Italy. Helden telephoned, gave Noel the address and the time. She would be there to introduce her brother, but would not stay.
Noel climbed the last step and knocked on the door. He heard hurrying footsteps; the door opened; Helden was in the narrow foyer. «Hello, my darling,» she said.
«Hello,» he answered awkwardly as he met her lips, his eyes glancing behind her.
«Johann’s on the terrace,» she said, laughing. «A kiss is permitted, in any event. I told him … how fond I am of you.»
«Was that necessary?»
«Strangely enough, it was. I’m glad I did. It made me feel good.» She closed the door, holding his arm. «I can’t explain this,» she said. «I haven’t seen my brother in over a year. But he’s changed. The situation in Geneva has affected him; he’s profoundly committed to its success. I’ve never seen him so … oh, I don’t know … so thoughtful.»
«I still have questions, Helden.»
«So does he. About you.»
«Really?»
«At one point this morning, he didn’t want to meet with you. He didn’t trust you. He believed you’d been reached, paid to betray Geneva.»
«Me?»
«Think about it. He learned from people in Rio that you’d met with Maurice Graff. From Graff you went straight to London, to Anthony Beaumont. You were right about him: He’s ODESSA.» Helden stopped briefly. «He said you … spent the night with Gretchen, went to bed with her.»
«Wait a minute,» interrupted Noel.
«No, darling, it’s not important. I told you, I know my sister. But there’s a pattern, don’t you see? To the ODESSA, women are only conveniences. You were a friend of ODESSA; you’d had a long, exhausting trip. It was perfectly natural that your needs should be fulfilled.»
«That’s barbaric!»
«It’s the way Johann saw it.»
«He’s wrong.»
«He knows that now. At least, I think he does. I told him about the things that had happened to you—to us—and how you’d nearly been killed. He was amazed. He may still have questions to ask you, but I think he’s convinced.»
Holcroft shook his head in bewilderment
Nothing is as it was for you … nothing can ever be the same. Not only was nothing the same, it wasn’t even what it appeared not to be. There was no straight line from point A to point B.
«Let’s get this over with,» he said. «Can we meet later?»
«Of course.»
«Are you going back to work?»
«I haven’t been to work.»
«I forgot. You were with your brother. You said you were going to work, but you were with him.»
«It was a necessary lie.»
«They’re all necessary, aren’t they?»
«Please, Noel. Shall I come back for you? Say, in two hours?»
Holcroft considered. Part of his mind was still on the startling news Miles had given him. He had tried to reach Sam Buonoventura in Curaçao, but Sam had been in the field. «You could do me a favor instead,» he said to Helden. «I’ve told you about Buonoventura, in the Caribbean. I put in a call to him from the hotel; he hasn’t returned it. If you’re free, would you wait in the room in case he does call? I wouldn’t ask you, but it’s urgent. Something happened; I’ll tell you about it later. Will you?»
«Certainly. What shall I say to him?»
«Tell him to stay put for a few hours. Or to give you a number where I can call him later. Six to eight; Paris time. Tell him it’s important.» Noel reached in his pocket. «Here’s the key. Remember, my name’s Fresca.»
Helden took the key and then his arm, leading him into the studio. «And you remember, my brother’s name is Tennyson. John Tennyson.»
Holcroft saw Tennyson through thick panes of leaded glass windows that looked out on the terrace. He wore a dark pinstriped suit, no overcoat or hat; his hands were on the railing as he peered out at the Paris skyline. He was tall and slender, the body tapered almost too perfectly; it was the body of an athlete, a series of coiled springs, taut and contained. He turned slightly to his right, revealing his face. It was a face like no other Noel had seen. It was an artist’s rendering, the features too idealized for actual flesh and blood. And because it did not accept blemish, the face was cold. It was a face cast in marble, topped by glistening light-blond hair, perfectly groomed, matching the stone.