"No, you didnt. You didnt say that. You said you got word." Holcroft was alarmed; she wasnt making sense. Herr Obersts hidden cottage was not on the way to Orly. "Helden, whats the matter?"

"I love you, Noel. Ill call you tomorrow night. Hotel dAccord, Geneva." She hung up.

Holcroft replaced the phone, the sound of her voice echoing in his ears. It was possible she was going to London, but he doubted it. Where was she going? Why did she lie? God damn it! What was wrong with her? What had happened?

There was no point in staying in Paris. Since he had to reach Geneva on his own, he might as well get started.

He could not chance the airlines or the trains. Unseen men would be watching; he had to elude them. The assistant manager of the George V could hire him a car under the name of Fresca. The route would be mapped for him. He would drive through the night to Geneva.

Althene Holcroft looked out the window of the TAP airliner at the lights of Lisbon below; they would be on the ground in minutes. She had a great deal to accomplish during the next twelve hours, and she hoped to God she was capable of doing it. A man had followed her in Mexico; she knew that. But then he had disappeared at the airport, which meant that another had taken his place.

She had failed in Mexico. She had not dropped out of sight. Once in Lisbon, she would have to vanish; she could not fail again.

Lisbon.

Oh, God, Lisbon!

It had been in Lisbon where it all began. The lie of a lifetime, conceived in diabolical brilliance. What an imbecile she had been; what a performance Heinrich had given.

She had at first refused to meet with Heinrich in Lisbon, so total was her loathing, but she had gone because the threat was clear: Her son would be branded by his father. Nod Holcroft would never be left in peace, for the name Noel Clausen-only son of the infamous Nazi-would trail him throughout his life.

How relieved shed been! How grateful that the threat had been only a device to bring her to Lisbon. And how stunned and awestruck when Heinrich calmly outlined the extraordinary plan that would take years to bring to pass, but when it did, would make the world a far better place. She listened, was convinced, and did everything he asked her to do. For amends would be made.

She had loved him again-during those brief few days in Lisbon-and in a rush of emotion had offered herself to him.

With tears in his eyes, he had refused. He was not worthy, he said.

It was the consummate deception! The ultimate irony!

For now, at this moment, the very threat that brought her to Lisbon thirty years ago was the threat that brought her here again. Noel Holcroft would be destroyed; he would become Noel Clausen, son of Heinrich, instrument of the new Reich.

A man had come to her in the middle of the night in Bedford Hills. A man who had gained entrance by invoking the name "Manfredi" behind the closed door; she had admitted him thinking perhaps her son had sent him. He had said he was a Jew from a place called Har Shaalav, and that he was going to kill her. And then he would kill her son. Thered be no specter of Wolfsschanze-the false Wolfsschanze-spreading from Zurich out of Geneva.

Althene had been furious. Did the man know to whom he was speaking? What she had done? What she stood for?

The man knew only about Geneva and Zurich ... and Lisbon thirty years ago. It was all he had to know, to know what she stood for, and that stance was an abomination to him and all men like him throughout the world.

Althene had seen the pain and the anger in the dark eyes that held her at bay as surely as if a weapon had been leveled at her. In desperation, she had demanded that he tell her what he thought he knew.

He had told her that extraordinary sums were to be funneled to committees and causes throughout all nations. To men and women who had been waiting for thirty years for the signal.

There would be killing and disruption and conflagrations in the streets; governments would be bewildered, their agencies crippled. The cries for stability and order would be heard across the lands. Strong men and women with massive sums at their disposal would then assert themselves. Within months control would be theirs.

They were everywhere. In all countries, awaiting only the signal from Geneva.

Who were they?

The Sonnenkinder. The children of fanatics, sent out of Germany more than thirty years ago by plane and ship and submarine. Sent out by men who knew their cause was lost-but believed that cause could live again.

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 Shaalav 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 cliches 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 dont see him. He is cloaked in respectability and a pressed suit of clothes.

The Jew of Har Shaalav 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. Im not what you think I am. Kill me. For Gods 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! Dont kill him; dont brand him. Hes not what you think he is. Give him his life. Take mine, but give him his!

The Jew of Har Shaalav 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. Well talk again. If youve lied, well 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 Shaalav 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 Althenes 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, Ive lost it." Althene watched it plummet into the water.

"Youve 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.

"Im 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 cant 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. Its 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 Im there."

"Youll get to Geneva, senhora, and only those you inform will know youre 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. Youll 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 Pyrenees. From there to Montpellier and Avignon. At Avignon a small plane will take you to Grenoble, another to Chambery and to Geneve. It will cost."

"I can pay. When do we start?"

"Tonight."

36.

The blond man signed the Htel dAccord registration card and handed it to the desk clerk.

"Thank you, Mr. Tennyson. Youll 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 Geneve. We assured him we would do everything to make your stay pleasant."

"Ill inform him of my complete satisfaction."

"Youre most kind."

"Incidentally, Im expecting to meet an old friend here during the next few days. A Mrs. Holcroft. Could you tell me when shes 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."

"Im afraid we have no reservations in that name, sir. And I know theres no one named Holcroft presently a guest."

The muscles of the blond mans jaw tensed. "Surely an error has been made. My information is accurate. Shes 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, Im quite certain my friend, the first deputy, would ask you to let me see it."

"If there were, that wouldnt be necessary, Mr. Tennyson. We understood fully that we are to cooperate with you in all requests."

"Perhaps shes traveling incognito. Shes been known to be eccentric that way."

The clerk turned the ledger around. "Please, look for yourself, sir. Its possible youll 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. Im familiar with nearly every one of those names."

"Which ones arent you familiar with?" pressed the blond man.

The clerk placed his finger on two. "These are the only names I dont 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. "Im going to my rooms, but I need to ask you for an example of that cooperation the first deputy spoke of. Its most urgent that I find out where Mrs. Holcroft is staying in Geneva. Id 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 Chtillon-sur-Seine, where he made the phone call to an astonished Ellis in London.

"Youll do what?" Ellis said.

"You heard me, Willie. Ill pay you five hundred dollars and your expenses for one, maybe two days in Geneva. All I want you to do is take my mother back to London."

"Im a dreadful nanny. And from what youve told me about your mother, shes the last person in the world who needs a traveling companion."

"She does now. Someone was following her. Ill tell you about it when I see you in Geneva. How about it, Willie? Will you do it?"

"Of course. But stuff your five hundred. Im sure your mother and I will have far more in common than we ever did. You may, however, pick up the tabs. I travel well, as you know."

"While were on the subject, travel with a little cool, will you, please? I want you to call the Htel dAccord in Geneva and make a reservation for late this morning. The first plane should get you there by nine-thirty."

"Ill be on my best behavior, befitting Louis Vuitton luggage. Perhaps a minor title...."

"Willie!"

"I know the Swiss better than you. They adore titles; they reek of money, and moneys their mistress."

"Ill phone you around ten, ten-thirty. I want to use your room until I know whats going on."

"Thats extra," said Willie Ellis. "See you in Geneva."