Noel stood in the door frame, for an instant feeling ashamed. Against the wall by a window was a blind man. He was an old man and he was trembling at the unseen, unknown violence that had invaded his dark privacy.

"Nom de Dieu ..." he whispered, holding his hands in front of him.

The sound of racing footsteps came from the hallway, footsteps that grew louder-the sound of a man not simply running but running frantically, leather slapping against wood. Holcroft turned quickly, in time to see the figure of the MI-Five agent rush past. There was a crash of glass from somewhere outside. Noel lurched out of the blind mans room, looking to the left, where the crash had come from; there was sunlight streaming through an open door at the end of the corridor. Its panes of glass had been painted black; he had not seen it in the dim light.

How did the agent know a door was there? Why had he kicked it open and raced outside? Did the MI-Five man think he had gone out that way? Instinct told him the agent would not give him that much credit; he was an amateur, a lunatic. No, he was after someone else.

It could be only Helden! But Helden was behind the door across from the blind mans room; it was the only place left. It had to be. The agent was wrong!

Holcroft kicked the door in front of him; the lock broke, the door swung open, and he rushed inside.

It was empty, had been empty a very long time. Layers of dust were everywhere ... and there were no footprints. No one had been inside that room for weeks.

The MI-Five man had been right. The amateur had not known something that the professional had perceived.

Noel ran out of the empty room, down the dark corridor, through the shattered door, and out into a courtyard. On the left was a heavy wooden door that led back to the side street. It was open, and Holcroft raced through it. He could hear sounds of the carnival from the square, but they were not the only sounds. Far down the deserted street to his right he could hear a scream, cut off now as it had been cut off before. He ran in the direction of the scream, in Heldens direction, but he could see no one.

"Get back!" The command came from a recessed doorway.

There was a gunshot; above him stone shattered and he could hear the sickening whine of a ricocheting bullet.

Noel threw himself to the ground, onto the hard, irregular surface of the cobblestones. As he broke his fall, his finger touched the trigger of his gun. It fired, the explosion next to his face. In panic, he rolled over and over toward the recessed doorway. Hands grabbed him, pulling his body into the shadows. The man from British Intelligence, the young man with the scar on his forehead, yanked him back against the stone entranceway.

"I repeat! Youre a goddamned fool! I should kill you myself and save them the trouble." The agent was crouched against the wall; he inched his face to the edge.

"I dont believe you," said Noel. "I dont believe any of this. Where is she?"

"The bastards holding her across the way, about twenty yards down. My guess is hes got a radio and has contacted a car."

"Theyre going to kill her!"

"Not now they wont. I dont know why, but thats not what they have in mind. Perhaps because shes his sister."

"Get off that! Its wrong: its crazy! I told her; she reached him. Hes no more this Tinamou than you are. And hes mad as hell. Hell probably write something for his paper, make you, the Foreign Office, the whole damned British government, look like assholes!"

The MI-Five agent stared at Holcroft. His look was that of a man studying the ravings of a psychopath, equal parts curiosity, revulsion, and astonishment. "He what? You what?"

"You heard me."

"My God.... Whoever you are, whatever youre involved with, youre not remotely connected with any of this."

"I told you that in London," said Noel, struggling to sit up, trying to find his breath again. "Did you think I was lying?"

"We knew you were lying; we just didnt know why. We thought you were being used by men wanting to reach Von Tiebolt."

"For what?"

"Make a blind contact, neither side exposing itself. It was a fair cover: money in America, left for the family."

"But for what?"

"Later! You want the girl, I want the bastard whos got her. Listen to me." The agent gestured at the automatic in Noels hand. "Do you know how to use that?"

"I once had to use a gun like it. Im no expert."

"You dont have to be; youll have a large target. If Im right, theyve got a car cruising the area."

"Dont you?"

"No, Im alone. Now listen to me. If a car drives up, itll have to stop. The second it does Im going to dash over to that doorway across the street. As Im running, cover me by shooting directly at the car. Aim for the windscreen. Hit the tires, the radiator. I dont care what, but try to get the windscreen. Shoot it up; immobilize the damned car, if you can; and pray to God that the locals stay away at that fucking wingding in the square."

"Suppose they dont, suppose someone-"

"Try not to hit him, you ass!" broke in the Englishman. "And keep your fire to the right side of the car. Your right. Expose yourself as little as possible."

"The right side of the car?"

"Yes, unless you want to hit the girl, which, frankly, I dont give a piss about. But I want him. Of course, if Im wrong, none of this applies, and well have to think of something else."

The agents face was pressed against the stone. He inched it forward, peering down the street. The unfamiliar forest belonged to such men, not to well-intentioned architects. "You werent wrong back in that old building," Noel said. "You knew there was another way out."

"A second exit. No one worth his pecker would allow himself to be trapped inside."

Once more the professional was right. Noel could hear the screeching of tires; an automobile careened around an unseen corner and drew rapidly closer. The agent stood up, gesturing for Noel to follow. He looked around the edge of the entranceway, his forearm angled across his chest, his pistol in his hand.

There was a second screech of tires; the automobile came to a stop. The agent shouted at Holcroft as he leaped from the doorway, firing his pistol twice at the car, and raced across the street.

"Now!"

It was a brief nightmare, made intensely real by the shattering sounds and the frantic movement. Noel was actually doing it. He could see the automatic in front of him, at the end of his arm, being held in his hand. He could feel the vibrations that traveled through his body each time he squeezed the trigger. 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 cant get out!"

"Nie und nimmer!"

"Then she can go with you! I dont give a piss!... Spin to your right, miss! Now!"

Two explosions, one right after the other; a womans scream echoed throughout the street. Noels 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?"

Heldens 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.

"Ill drive," Helden said. "Put him in the back seat."

"The windshield! You cant see!"

"You cant 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 couldnt 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 assassinees! 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.

"Were switching cars," said Holcroft. "Well 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.

"Youre a piss ant. Tell Payton-Jones theres a complication we dont know about. The man we thought was sent by the Tinamou, Von Tiebolts man ..."

"My brothers not the Tinamou," cried Helden.

The agent looked at her through half-closed lids. "Maybe youre right, miss. I didnt 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 Johanns idea."

"Thanks a lot."

"Please. You dont understand these things. My brother does. I do."

"Helden, I tried to trap that man! He was killed!"

"What? Oh, my God..."

"Thats the complication," whispered the agent, speaking to Noel. "If Von Tiebolts 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. Theyre 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 agents 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 isnt time...." He struggled pathetically to look again at Holcroft. "Youre clean. You must be ... you wouldnt have said what you just said. Im 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.... Its Wolfsschanze."

The agents head fell forward. He was dead.

22.