"He went back to the courier archives," interrupted Gretchen.

"Yes. Concentrating on the Finanzministerium. Hundreds of runs were made, Manfredi the recipient in dozens. Once he had Manfredis name, the rest was patient observation-and money spread cautiously within the bank. His break came when he heard that Manfredi was setting up contact with a heretofore-unheard-of American named Holcroft. Why? He studied Holcroft and found the mother."

"She was Manfredis strategy," Gretchen broke in again.

"From the beginning," agreed Tennyson, nodding. "He convinced Clausen she had to leave Germany. She had money of her own and moved in monied circles; she could be of great use to us in America. With Clausens help, she came to accept that, but she was essentially Manfredis creation."

"Underneath that gnomes benign appearance," said Gretchen, "was a Machiavelli."

"Without that kindly innocence of his, I doubt hed ever have got away with it. But Machiavelli isnt the parallel. Manfredis interest was solely the money; it was the only power he wanted. He was a sworn companion of the gold quota. It was his intention to control the agency in Zurich; its why we killed him."

"How much did Baldwin learn?"

"Well never know, exactly; but whatever it was, it was to be his vindication with British Intelligence. You see, he wasnt a double agent; he was exactly what he claimed to be: MI Sixs very effective man in Prague."

"He reached Manfredi?"

"Oh, yes. He implied that much by his knowledge of the Geneva meeting. He was just a little late, thats all." The blond man smiled. "I can picture the confrontation: two specialists circling each other, both wanting something desperately; one to pry out information, the other to retain it at all costs, knowing he was dealing with a potentially catastrophic situation. Certain agreements must have been made; and, true to form, Manfredi broke his word, moved up the meeting with Holcroft, and then alerted us about Baldwin. He covered everything. If your husband were to be caught killing Peter Baldwin, there would be no connection with Ernst Manfredi. He was a man to be respected. He might have won."

"But not against Johann von Tiebolt," said Gretchen, squeezing his hand beneath her breast, moving it up. "Incidentally, I received another code from Graff, from Rio. Hes upset again. He says hes not being kept informed."

"His senility is showing. He, too, has served his purpose. Age makes him careless; its no time for him to be sending messages to England. Im afraid the moment has arrived for unser Freund in Brazil."

"Youll send the order out?"

"In the morning. One more arm of the hated ODESSA severed. He trained me too well." Tennyson leaned forward, his hand cupping his sisters breast "I think we are finished talking. As always, talking with you clears my mind. I cant think of anything more to say, anything more to ask you."

"Then make demands instead. Its been so long for you; you must be bursting inside. Ill take care of you, as I always have."

"Since we were children," said Tennyson, his mouth covering hers, her hand groping for his trousers. Both of them were trembling.

Gretchen lay naked beside him, her breathing steady, her body drained and satisfied. The blond man raised his hand and looked at the radium dial of his watch. It was two-thirty in the morning. Time to do the terrible thing demanded of him by the covenant of Wolfsschanze. All traces to Geneva had to be removed.

He reached over the side of the bed for his shoes. He lifted one up, feeling the heel with his fingers in the darkness. There was a small metal disk in the center. He pressed it, turning it to the left until a spring was released. He placed the disk on the bedside table, then tilted the shoe back and removed a steel needle ten inches long, concealed in a tiny bore drilled from heel to sole. The needle was flexible but unbreakable. Inserted properly between the fourth and fifth ribs, it punctured the heart, leaving a mark more often missed than found, even during an autopsy.

He held it delicately between the thumb and index finger of his right hand, reaching for his sister with his left. He touched her right breast and then her naked shoulder. She opened her eyes.

"You are insatiable," she whispered, smiling.

"Only with you." He drew her up to him until their flesh touched. "You are my only love," he said, his right arm sliding behind her, extended a foot beyond her spine. He turned his wrist inward; the needle was positioned. He thrust it forward.

The back-country roads were confusing, but Tennyson had memorized the route. He knew the way to the hidden cottage that housed the enigmatic Herr Oberst, that betrayer of the Reich. Even the title, "Oberst," was an ironic commentary. The traitor had been no colonel; he had been general in the Wehrmacht, General Klaus Falkenheim, at one time fourth-in-command of all Germany. Praise had been lavished on him by his military peers, and even by the Fhrer himself. And all the while a jackal had lived in that shiny, hollow shell.

God, how Johann von Tiebolt loathed the misfit liar that was Herr Oberst! But John Tennyson would not show that loathing. On the contrary, Tennyson would fawn on the old man, proclaiming awe and respect. For if there was one certain way to get his younger sisters total cooperation, it was by showing such deference.

He had called Helden at Gallimard, telling her that he had to see where she lived. Yes, he knew she lived in Herr Obersts small house; and again, yes, he knew where it was.

"Im a newspaperman now. I wouldnt be a very good one if I didnt have sources."

She had been stunned. He insisted on seeing her in the late morning, before meeting Holcroft in the afternoon. He would not meet with the American unless and until he saw her. Perhaps Herr Oberst could help clarify the situation. Perhaps the old gentleman might allay sudden fears that had arisen.

He reached the dirt road that led through the overgrown grass into the untamed glen that protected Herr Obersts 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. Heldens 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. "Youve earned the gratitude of Germans everywhere. If I can ever be of service to you, tell Helden, and Ill do whatever you ask."

"Youre too kind, Herr von Tiebolt," replied the old man. "But according to your sister, its you who seek something from me, and I cant 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. Im now asked to meet with him, cooperate with him...." Tennyson stopped, as if the words eluded him.

"And?" Herr Oberst moved forward.

"I dont trust him," said the blond man. "Hes 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."

Heldens face was stretched in shock, her eyes a mixture of anger and disbelief. "Thats absurd! Johann, thats insane!"

"Is it? I dont 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 thats what you mean. I think its called a 'trace. Put out by you?"

"Thats 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. "Ill give her credit; shes 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."

"Theres no harassment. And whatever her reasons, shed 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 couldnt 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.

"Johanns 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. Im glad I did. It made me feel good." She closed the door, holding his arm. "I cant explain this," she said. "I havent seen my brother in over a year. But hes changed. The situation in Geneva has affected him; hes profoundly committed to its success. Ive never seen him so ... oh, I dont know ... so thoughtful."

"I still have questions, Helden."

"So does he. About you."

"Really?"

"At one point this morning, he didnt want to meet with you. He didnt trust you. He believed youd been reached, paid to betray Geneva."

"Me?"

"Think about it. He learned from people in Rio that youd met with Maurice Graff. From Graff you went straight to London, to Anthony Beaumont. You were right about him: Hes ODESSA." Helden stopped briefly. "He said you ... spent the night with Gretchen, went to bed with her."

"Wait a minute," interrupted Noel.

"No, darling, its not important. I told you, I know my sister. But theres a pattern, dont you see? To the ODESSA, women are only conveniences. You were a friend of ODESSA; youd had a long, exhausting trip. It was perfectly natural that your needs should be fulfilled."

"Thats barbaric!"

"Its the way Johann saw it."

"Hes 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 youd nearly been killed. He was amazed. He may still have questions to ask you, but I think hes 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 wasnt even what it appeared not to be. There was no straight line from point A to point B.

"Lets get this over with," he said. "Can we meet later?"

"Of course."

"Are you going back to work?"

"I havent 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."

"Theyre all necessary, arent 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 Curaao, but Sam had been in the field. "You could do me a favor instead," he said to Helden. "Ive told you about Buonoventura, in the Caribbean. I put in a call to him from the hotel; he hasnt returned it. If youre free, would you wait in the room in case he does call? I wouldnt ask you, but its urgent. Something happened; Ill 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 its important." Noel reached in his pocket "Heres the key. Remember, my names Fresca."

Helden took the key and then his arm, leading him into the studio. "And you remember, my brothers 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 artists 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.

Then Von Tiebolt-Tennyson saw him through the window; their eyes met, and the image of marble collapsed. The blond mans eyes were alive and penetrating. He pushed himself away from the railing and walked toward the terrace door.

Stepping inside, he extended his hand. "I am the son of Wilhelm von Tiebolt."

"Im ... Noel Holcroft. My ... father was Heinrich Clausen."

"I know. Helden has told me a great deal about you. Youve been through a lot."

"We both have," agreed Holcroft. "I mean, your sister and I. I gather youve had your share, too."

"Our legacy, unfortunately." Tennyson smiled. "Its awkward meeting like this, isnt it?"

"Ive been more comfortable."

"And Ive not said a word," interjected Helden. "You were both quite capable of introducing yourselves. Ill leave now."

"You certainly dont have to," said Tennyson. "What we have to say to each other concerns you, I think."

"Im not sure it does. Not for the moment. Besides, I have something to do," replied Helden. She started toward the foyer. "I think its terribly important-for a great many people-that you trust each other. I hope you can." She opened the door and left.

Neither man spoke for several moments; each looked toward the spot where Helden had stood.