They were everywhere. They could not be fought by ordinary men in ordinary ways through ordinary channels of authority. In too many instances the Sonnenkinder controlled those channels. But the Jews of Har Sha’alav were not ordinary men; nor did they fight in ordinary ways. They understood that to stop the false Wolfsschanze, they had to fight secretly, violently, never allowing the Sonnenkinder to know where they were—or where they would strike next. And the first order of business was to stop the massive infusion of funds.
Expose them now!
Who? Where? What are their identities? How will proof be furnished? Who can say this general or that admiral, this chief of police or that corporation president, this justice or that senator, Congressman, or governor is a Sonnenkind?
Men run for office espousing clichés wrapped in code words, appealing to hatreds, and still they are not suspect. Instead, crowds cheer them and wave flags and put emblems in their lapels.
They are everywhere. The Nazi is among us and we don’t see him. He is cloaked in respectability and a pressed suit of clothes.
The Jew of Har Sha’alav had spoken passionately. «Even you, old woman. You and your son, instruments of the new Reich. Even you do not know who they are.»
I know nothing. I swear on my life I know nothing. I’m not what you think I am. Kill me. For God’s sake, kill me. Now! Take your vengeance out on me. You deserve that and so do I if what you say is true. But I implore you, reach my son. Take him. Explain to him. Stop him! Don’t kill him; don’t brand him. He’s not what you think he is. Give him his life. Take mine, but give him his!
The Jew of Har Sha’alav had spoken. «Richard Holcroft was killed. It was no accident.»
She had nearly collapsed, but she would not allow herself to fall. She could not permit the momentary oblivion that would have been so welcome.
Oh, my God…
«Wolfsschanze killed him. The false Wolfsschanze. As surely as if they had marched him into a chamber at Auschwitz.»
What is Wolfsschanze? Why do you call it false?
«Learn for yourself. We’ll talk again. If you’ve lied, we’ll kill you. Your son will live—for as long as the world lets him—but he will live with a swastika across his face.»
Reach him. Tell him.
The man from Har Sha’alav left. Althene sat in a chair by the window, staring out at the snow-covered grounds throughout the night. Her beloved Richard, the husband who had given her and her son their lives again… What had she done?
But she knew what to do now.
The plane touched ground, the impact pushing Althene’s reveries out of her mind, bringing her back to the moment at hand. To Lisbon.
She stood at the railing of the ferry, the waters of the Tagus River slapping against the hull as the old ship made its way across the bay. In her left hand was a lace handkerchief, fluttering in the wind.
She thought she saw him but, as instructed, made no move until he approached her. She had never seen him before, of course, but that was not important. He was an old man in rumpled clothes, with heavy gray sideburns that met the stubble of a white beard. His eyes searched the passengers as if he were afraid one of them might yell for the police. He was the man; he stood behind her.
«The river looks cold today,» he said.
The lace handkerchief flew away in the wind. «Oh, dear, I’ve lost it.» Althene watched it plummet into the water.
«You’ve found it,» said the man.
«Thank you.»
«Please do not look at me. Look at the skyline across the lagoon.»
«Very well.»
«You spread money too generously, senhora,» the man said.
«I’m in a great hurry.»
«You bring up names so long in the past there are no faces. Requests that have not been made in years.»
«I can’t believe times have changed that much.»
«Oh, but they have, senhora. Men and women still travel secretly, but not with such simple devices as doctored passports. It’s the age of the computer. False papers are not what they once were. We go back to the war. To the escape routes.»
«I have to get to Geneva as quickly as possible. No one must know I’m there.»
«You’ll get to Geneva, senhora, and only those you inform will know you’re there. But it will not be as quickly as you wish; it will not be a matter of a single flight on an airline.»
«How long?»
«Two or three days. Otherwise there are no guarantees. You’ll be picked up, either by the authorities or by those you care to avoid.»
«How do I get there?»
«Across borders that are unpatrolled, or where the guards can be bribed. The northern route. Sierra de Gata, across to Zaragoza, on the eastern Pyrénées. From there to Montpellier and Avignon. At Avignon a small plane will take you to Grenoble, another to Chambéry and to Genève. It will cost.»
«I can pay. When do we start?»
«Tonight.»
36
The blond man signed the Hôtel d’Accord registration card and handed it to the desk clerk.
«Thank you, Mr. Tennyson. You’ll be staying fourteen days?»
«Perhaps longer, certainly no less. I appreciate your making a suite available.»
The clerk smiled. «We received a call from your friend, the first deputy of canton Genève. We assured him we would do everything to make your stay pleasant.»
«I’ll inform him of my complete satisfaction.»
«You’re most kind.»
«Incidentally, I’m expecting to meet an old friend here during the next few days. A Mrs. Holcroft. Could you tell me when she’s expected?»
The clerk took up a ledger and thumbed through the pages. «Did you say the name was Holcroft?»
«Yes. Althene Holcroft. An American. You might also have a reservation for her son, Mr. N. Holcroft.»
«I’m afraid we have no reservations in that name, sir. And I know there’s no one named Holcroft presently a guest.»
The muscles of the blond man’s jaw tensed. «Surely an error has been made. My information is accurate. She’s expected at this hotel. Perhaps not this evening, but certainly tomorrow or the day after. Please check again. Is there a confidential listing?»
«No, sir.»
«If there were, I’m quite certain my friend, the first deputy, would ask you to let me see it.»
«If there were, that wouldn’t be necessary, Mr. Tennyson. We understood fully that we are to cooperate with you in all requests.»
«Perhaps she’s traveling incognito. She’s been known to be eccentric that way.»
The clerk turned the ledger around. «Please, look for yourself, sir. It’s possible you’ll recognize a name.»
Tennyson did not. It was infuriating. «This is the complete list?» he asked again.
«Yes, sir. We are a small and, if I may say, rather exclusive hotel. Most of our guests have been here previously. I’m familiar with nearly every one of those names.»
«Which ones aren’t you familiar with?» pressed the blond man.
The clerk placed his finger on two. «These are the only names I don’t know,» he said. «The gentlemen from Germany, two brothers named Kessler, and a Sir William Ellis, from London. The last was made only hours ago.»
Tennyson looked pointedly at the desk clerk. «I’m going to my rooms, but I need to ask you for an example of that cooperation the first deputy spoke of. It’s most urgent that I find out where Mrs. Holcroft is staying in Geneva. I’d appreciate your calling the various hotels, but under no circumstances should my name be mentioned.» He took out a one-hundred-franc note. «Locate her for me,» he said.
By midnight Noel reached Châtillon-sur-Seine, where he made the phone call to an astonished Ellis in London.