"You promised me days, weeks, if I wished," he said.

"I promised us both, my darling, and well have them. But not Argenteuil. Ill explain when I see you."

It was barely five-fifteen; the winter night descended on Paris quickly, and the chill of the river wind penetrated him. He pulled up the collar of his secondhand overcoat to ward off the cold. He looked at his watch again; its hands had not moved. How could they have? No more than ten seconds had elapsed.

He felt like a young man waiting for a girl he had met at a country club in the summer moonlight, and he smiled to himself, feeling awkward and embarrassed, not wanting to acknowledge his anxiety. He was not in the moonlight on some warm summers night. He was on a bridge in Paris, and the air was cold, and he was dressed in a secondhand overcoat, and in his pocket was a gun.

He saw her walking onto the bridge. She was wearing the black raincoat, her blond hair encased by a dark-red scarf that framed her face. Her pace was steady, neither rapid nor casual; she was a lone woman going home from her place of work. Except for her striking features-only hinted at in the distance-she was like thousands of other women in Paris, heading home in the early evening.

She saw him. He started walking toward her, but she held up her hand, a signal for him to remain where he was. He paid no attention, wanting to reach her quickly, his arms held out. She walked into them and they embraced, and he felt warm in the comfort of being with her again. She pulled her head back and looked at him, then pretended to be firm, but her eyes smiled.

"You must never run on a bridge," she said. "A man running across a bridge stands out. One strolls over the water; one doesnt race."

"I missed you. I dont give a damn."

"You must learn to. How was Berlin?"

He put his arm around her shoulder and they started toward the quai Saint-Bernard, and the Left Bank. "Ive got a lot to tell you, some good, some not so good. But if learning something is progress, I think weve taken a couple of giant steps. Have you heard from your brother?"

"Yes. This afternoon. He called an hour after you did. His plans have changed; he can be in Paris tomorrow."

"Thats the best news you could give me. At least, I think it is. Ill let you know tomorrow." They walked off the bridge and turned left along the riverbank. "Did you miss me?"

"Noel, youre mad. You left yesterday afternoon. I barely had time to get home, bathe, have a very-much-needed nights sleep, and get to work."

"You went home? To your apartment?"

"No, I-" She stopped and looked up at him, smiling. "Very good, Noel Holcroft, new recruit. Interrogate casually."

"I dont feel casual."

"You promised not to ask that question."

"Not specifically. I asked you if you were married, or living with someone-to which I got a negative to the first and a very oblique answer to the second-but I never actually promised not to try and find out where you live."

"You implied it, my darling. One day Ill tell you, and youll see how foolish you are."

"Tell me now. Im in love. I want to know where my woman lives."

The smile disappeared from her lips. Then it returned, and she glanced up at him again. "Youre like a little boy practicing a new word. You dont know me well enough to love me; I told you that."

"I forgot. You like women."

"Theyre among my best friends."

"But you wouldnt want to marry one."

"I dont want to marry anyone."

"Good. Its less complicated. Just move in with me for the next ten years, exercisable options on both sides."

"You say such nice things."

They stopped at an intersection. He turned Helden to him, both his hands on her arms. "I say them because I mean them."

"I believe you," she said, looking at him curiously, her eyes part questioning, part fearful.

He saw the fear; it bothered him, and so he smiled. "Love me a little?"

She could not bring the smile to her lips. "I think I love you more than a little. Youre a problem I didnt want. Im not sure I can handle it."

"Thats even better." He laughed and took her hand to cross the street "Its nice to know you dont have all the answers."

"Did you believe I did?"

"I thought you thought so."

"I dont."

"I know."

The restaurant was half filled with diners. Helden asked for a table in the rear, out of sight of the entrance. The proprietor nodded. It was apparent that he could not quite fathom why this belle femme would come into his establishment with such a poorly dressed companion. In his eyes was the comment: things were not going well for the girls of Paris these days. Nights.

"He doesnt approve of me," said Holcroft.

"Theres hope for you, though. You grew in his estimation when you specified expensive whiskey. He grinned; didnt you see?"

"He was looking at my jacket. It came from a somewhat better rack than the overcoat."

Helden laughed. "That overcoats purpose was not high fashion. Did you use it in Berlin?"

"I used it. I wore it when I picked up a whore. Are you jealous?"

"Not of anyone accepting an offer from you dressed like that."

"She was a vision of loveliness."

"Youre lucky. She was probably an ODESSA agent and youve come down with a social disease, as planned. See a doctor before you see me again."

Noel took her hand. There was no humor in his voice when he spoke. "The ODESSAS no concern of ours. Neither is the Rache. Thats one-or two-of the things I learned in Berlin. Its doubtful either of them knows anything about Geneva."

Helden was stunned. "But what about Beaumont? You said he was ODESSA, that he followed you to Rio."

"I think he is ODESSA, and he did follow me, but not because of Geneva. Hes tied in with Graff. Somehow he found out I was looking for Johann von Tiebolt; that was why he followed me. Not Geneva. Ill know more when I speak to your brother tomorrow. Anyway, Beaumontll be out of the picture in a few days. Kesslers taking care of it. He said hed make a call to someone in the Bonn government."

"Its that simple?"

"Its not that difficult. Any hint of ODESSA, especially in the military, is enough to start a battery of inquiries. Beaumontll be pulled in."

"If its not the ODESSA, or the Rache, who is it?"

"Thats part of what Ive got to tell you. I had to get rid of the mackinaw and the cap."

"Oh?" Helden was confused by the non sequitur.

He told her why, playing down the violence in the dark alleyway. Then he described the conversation with Kessler, realizing as he came to the end that he could not omit the murder of the unknown man in the leather jacket. He would tell her brother about it tomorrow; to withhold it from Helden now would serve no purpose. When he had finished, she shuddered, pressing her fingers into the palm of her hand.

"How horrible. Did Kessler have any idea who he was, where he came from?"

"Not really. We went over everything he said a half-dozen times, trying to figure it out, but there wasnt that much. In Kesslers opinion he was part of a neo-Nazi group-descendants of the party, Kessler called them. A splinter faction that has no use for the ODESSA."

"How would they know about the account in Geneva?"

"I asked Kessler that. He said that the sort of manipulations required to get that money out of Germany couldnt have been kept as quiet as we think; that someone somewhere could have learned about it."

"But Geneva is based on secrecy. Without it, it would collapse."

"Then its a question of degree. When is a secret a secret? What separates confidential information from highly classified data? A handful of people found out about Geneva and want to stop us from getting the money and using it the way its supposed to be used. They want it for themselves, so theyre not going to expose it."

"But if theyve learned that much, they know they cant get it."

"Not necessarily."

"Then they should be told!"

"I said as much to the man in the alley. I didnt convince him. Even if I had, it wouldnt make any difference now."

"But dont you see? Someone has to reach these people-whoever they are-and convince them they gain nothing by stopping you and my brother and Erich Kessler."

Holcroft drank. "Im not sure we should do that. Kessler said something that bothered me when I heard it, and it bothers me now. He said that we-the 'we, I guess, meaning all of us who havent studied the subject that closely-never understood the hard-core Nazi. From the Nazis point of view, it wasnt simply a question of how he could benefit; it was just as important to him that others do not benefit. Kessler called it the 'essential de-structiveness. "

Heldens frown returned. "So if theyre told, theyll go after you. Theyll kill the three of you, because without you, theres no Geneva."

"Not for another generation. Thats motive enough. The money goes back into the vaults for another thirty years."

Helden brought her hand to her mouth. "Wait a minute; theres something terribly wrong. Theyve tried to kill you. You. From the beginning ... you."

Holcroft shook his head. "We cant be certain-"

"Not certain?" broke in Helden. "My God, what more do you want? You showed me your jacket. There was the strychnine on that plane, the shots in Rio. What more do you want?"

"I want to know who was really behind those things. Thats why I have to talk to your brother."

"What can Johann tell you?"

"Whom he killed in Rio." Helden started to object; he took her hand again. "Let me explain. I think were in the middle-Im in the middle-of two fights, neither having anything to do with the other. Whatever happened to your brother in Rio has nothing to do with Geneva. Thats where I made my mistake. I tied everything into Geneva. Its not; its separate."

"I tried to tell you that," said Helden.

"I was slow. But then, no ones ever fired a gun at me, or tried to poison me, or shoved a knife in my stomach. Those kinds of things play hell with your thinking process. At least they do mine."

"Johann is a man of many interests, Noel," she said. "He can be very charming, very personable, but he can also be reticent. Its part of him. Hes lived a strange life. Sometimes I think of him as a gadfly. He darts quickly from one place to another, one interest to another, always brilliantly, always leaving his mark, but not always wishing that mark to be recognized."

" 'Hes here, hes there, hes everywhere, " interrupted Holcroft "Youre describing some sort of Scarlet Pimpernel."

"Exactly. Johann may not tell you what happened in Rio."

"He has to. I have to know."

"Since it has nothing to do with Geneva, he may disagree."

"Then Ill try to convince him. We have to find out how vulnerable he is."

"Lets say he is vulnerable. What happens then?"

"Hed be disqualified from taking part in Geneva. We know he killed someone. You heard a man-a wealthy, influential man, you thought-say he wanted to see your brother hanged for murder. I know he tangled with Graff, and that means the ODESSA. He ran for his life. He took you and your sister with him, but he ran for his life. Hes mixed up in a lot of complications; people are after him, and its not unreasonable to think he could be blackmailed. That could shake Geneva; it could corrupt it."

"Do the bankers have to be told?" asked Helden.

Noel touched her cheek, forcing her to look at him. "Id have to tell them. Were talking about seven hundred and eighty million dollars; about three men who did something remarkable. It was their gesture to history; I really believe that. If your brother puts it in jeopardy, or causes it to be misused, then maybe its better that those millions get locked up for the next generation. But it doesnt have to be that way. According to the rules, youre the one whod be the Von Tiebolt executrix."

Helden gazed at him. "I cant accept that, Noel. It must be Johann. Not only is he more qualified to be a part of Geneva; he deserves it. I cant take that from him."

"And I cant give it to him. Not if he can hurt the covenant Lets talk about it after I see him."

She studied his face; he felt awkward. She took his hand from her cheek and held it "Youre a moral man, arent you?"

"Not necessarily. Just angry. Im sick of corruption in the rarefied circles of finance. Theres been an awful lot of it in my country."

" 'Rarefied circles of finance?"

"Its a phrase my father used in his letter to me."

"Thats odd," said Helden.

"What is?"

"Youve always called him Clausen, or Heinrich Clausen. Formal, rather distant."

Holcroft nodded, acknowledging the truth of her remark. "Its funny, because I really dont know any more about him now than I did before. But hes been described to me. The way he looked, the way he talked, how people listened to him and were affected by him."

"Then you do know more about him."

"Not actually. Only impressions. A childs impressions, at that. But in a small way I think Ive found him."

"When did your parents tell you about him?"

"Not my parents, not my ... stepfather. Just Althene. It was a couple of weeks after my twenty-fifth birthday. I was working then, a certified professional."