«But it was neutral,» Payton-Jones said. «And its information was always accurate. It spared no one. The prosecutors of Nuremberg were continuously fed data by the Nachrichtendienst.»
«I suggest,» said Tennyson, «that the prosecutors were given only what the Nachrichtendienst wanted to give them. You can’t know what was withheld.»
The Britisher nodded again. «It’s possible. That’s something we’ll never know. The question is, why? What’s the motive?»
«If I may,» replied the blond man. «… A few old men about to die, taking their final vengeance. The Third Reich had two specific philosophical enemies who allied themselves in spite of their antagonisms: the communists and the democracies. Now each vies for supremacy. What better revenge than for each to accuse the other of assassination? For each to destroy the other?»
«If we could establish that,» interrupted Payton-Jones, «it could be the motive behind a number of assassinations during the past years.»
«How does one establish it beyond doubt?» asked Tennyson. «Did British Intelligence ever have a direct connection with the Nachrichtendienst?»
«Oh, yes. We insisted on identities—to be kept locked in the vaults, of course. We couldn’t act on such information blindly.»
«Are any alive today?»
«It’s possible. It’s been years since anyone has mentioned the Nachrichtendienst. I’ll check, of course.»
«Will you give me their names?»
The MI-Five man leaned back in the chair. «Is this one of the conditions you spoke of, Mr. Tennyson?»
«Spoke of, but made clear that under the circumstances I could never insist upon.»
«No civilized man would. If we catch the Tinamou, you’ll have the gratitude of world governments; the names are minor. If we have them, so will you. Do you have other requests? Should I have brought a notebook?»
«They’re limited,» answered Tennyson, overlooking the insult, «and may surprise you. Out of gratitude to my employers, I should like a five-hour advance exclusive for the Guardian.»
«It’s yours,» said Payton-Jones. «What else?»
«Insofar as MI Five has approached various people, implying that I was the subject of inquiries, I should like a letter from British Intelligence making it clear not only that my personal dossier is without blemish but that I’ve made an active contribution to your efforts to maintain—shall we say—‘international stability.’»
«Quite unnecessary,» said the Englishman. «Should the Tinamou be caught through the information you bring us, governments everywhere no doubt will decorate you with highest honors. A letter from us would be gratuitous. You won’t need it.»
«But, you see, I will,» said Tennyson. «For my next-to-last request is that my name never be mentioned.»
«Never be—» Payton-Jones was stunned. «That’s hardly in character, is it?»
«Please don’t confuse my professional endeavors with my private way of life. I seek no credit. The Von Tiebolts owe a debt; call this part payment.»
The MI-Five operative was silent for a moment. «I have misjudged you. I apologize again. Of course you’ll have your letter.»
«Frankly, there’s another reason for wanting anonymity. I realize that the Royal Navy and the French authorities are satisfied that my sister and her husband died accidentally while on holiday, and they’re probably right. But I think you’ll agree the timing was unfortunate. I have one sister left; she and I are the last of the Von Tiebolts. If anything happened to her, I’d never forgive myself.»
«I understand.»
«I’d like to offer you whatever assistance I can. I believe I know as much about the Tinamou as anyone alive. I’ve studied him for years. Every killing, every projected move he made before and after the acts. I think I can help. I’d like to be a part of your team.»
«I’d be a damn fool to turn you down. What’s your last request?»
«We’ll get to it.» Tennyson stood up. «The thing to realize about the Tinamou is that his technique is instant variation, practiced improvisation. He doesn’t have a single strategy, but ten or twelve—each methodically conceived and rehearsed so that it can be adapted to the moment.»
«I’m not sure I know what you mean.»
«Let me explain. That killing in Madrid seven months ago, during the riots—do you remember?»
«Of course. The rifle was fired from a fourth-floor window, above the crowds.»
«Exactly. A government building in a government square where the demonstrations were scheduled to take place. A government building. That bothered me. Suppose the guards were more alert, security measures more effective, people checked thoroughly for weapons? Suppose he could not have gotten to that window? It was an ideal spot, incidentally, for getting the target in his gun sight; but suppose there’d been people in that room?»
«He would have moved to another location.»
«Naturally. But no matter how well concealed the weapon—whether part of a crutch, or strapped to his leg, or sewn in sections into his clothing—it would have been awkward. He had to move quickly; timing was important; the demonstration wasn’t going to last that long. The Tinamou had to have more than one location, more than one option. And he did.»
«How do you know?» asked the MI-Five man, fascinated.
«I spent two days in Madrid, going over every building, every window, every rooftop in that square. I found four weapons intact, and three other locations where floorboards had been ripped out, window sashes removed, and moldings torn apart. Additional weapons had been concealed in those places. I even found two pounds of plastic explosives in a garbage can on the sidewalk. Fifty feet from the center of the demonstration. Eight positions from which to kill. Alternate selections for him to choose, each designed to fit a projected moment during a specific time span.»
Payton-Jones sat forward, his hands on the table. «That complicates things. Standard protective measures concentrate on a single location. Which of half a hundred possibilities is the most likely? The assumption is that the killer will have stationed himself in one location. The strategy you describe adds another dimension: instant mobility. Not a single preset hiding place, but several, selected at any given moment.»
«Within a given time span,» finished the blond-haired man. «But as I mentioned, we have an advantage. We know he’s there. There’s also a second advantage, and it’s one we should use immediately.» Tennyson stopped.
«What is it?»
«I’ll qualify that statement. We should use it only if we agree that the capture of the Tinamou is almost as vital as the ultimate safety of his targets.»
The Englishman frowned. «That’s a rather dangerous thing to say. There can be no risks—calculated or otherwise—where those men are concerned. Not on British soil.»
«Hear me out, please. He’s killed political leaders before, spreading suspicion, arousing hostilities between governments. And always steadier heads have prevailed; they’ve cooled things off. But the Tinamou must be stopped, on the outside chance that one day the steadier heads will not be swift enough. I think we can stop him now, if all consent.»
«Consent to what?»
«To adhering to published schedules. Bring the leaders of the delegations together; tell them what you know. Tell them that extraordinary precautions will be mounted, but by keeping to schedules, there’s a good chance that the Tinamou will at last be caught.» Tennyson paused and leaned over the chair, his hands on the rim. «I think if you’re honest, no one will disagree. After all, it’s not much more than what political leaders face every day.»
The frown on the MI-Five man’s face disappeared. «And no one will want to be called a coward. Now, what’s this second advantage?»