"Jews? With Nachrichtendienst?" Erich was exasperated. "What in Gods name are you talking about?"

"A strike has been called on the kibbutz Har Shaalav; Rache terrorists will be held responsible. Im sure the name 'Har Shaalav has meaning for you. At the last, the Nachrichtendienst turned to the Jews of Har Shaalav. Garbage to garbage."

"I should like a more specific explanation!" said Erich.

"Later. We must concentrate on the Holcrofts. We must ..." Von Tiebolt stopped, a thought striking him. "Priorities. Always look to priorities," he added, as if talking to himself. "And the first priority is the document at La Grande Banque de Geneve, which means the son takes precedence. Find him; isolate him; keep him in absolute quarantine. For our purposes, it need only be for thirty-odd hours."

"I dont follow you," interrupted Hans. "What happens in thirty hours?"

"The three of us will have met with the banks directors," Erich said. "Everything will have been signed, executed in the presence of the Grande Banques attorney, all the laws of Switzerland observed. The money will be released to Zurich, and we assume control Monday morning."

"But thirty hours from Friday morning is-"

"Saturday noon," completed Von Tiebolt. "We meet with the directors Saturday morning at nine oclock. There was never any question of our acceptance-except in Holcrofts mind. Manfredi took care of that months ago. Were not only acceptable; were damn near holy men. My letter from MI Five is merely a final crown. By Saturday noon it will have been accomplished."

"Theyre so anxious to lose seven hundred and eighty million dollars they will open the bank on a Saturday?"

The blond man smiled. "I made the request in Holcrofts name, for reasons of speed and confidentiality. The directors didnt object-they look for crumbs- and neither will Holcroft when we tell him. He has his own reasons for wanting everything over with. Hes stretched to the limits of his capacities." Von Tiebolt glanced at Erich, his smile broader. "He looks upon us both as friends, as pillars of strength, as two men he desperately needs. The programming has exceeded our hopes."

Kessler nodded. "By noon Saturday hell have signed the final condition."

"What final condition?" asked Hans, alarmed. "What does that mean? What does he sign?"

"We each will have signed it," answered Von Tiebolt, pausing for emphasis. "Its a requirement of Swiss law for the release of such accounts. Weve met, and fully understand our responsibilities; weve come to know each other and to trust each other. Therefore, in the event one of us predeceases the others, each assigns all rights and privileges to his coinheritors. Except, of course, the stipend of two million, which is to be distributed to the individuals heirs. That two million-legally assigned and prohibited from being given to the other executors-removes any motive for double-cross."

The younger Kessler whistled softly. "Utterly brilliant. So this final condition-this death clause wherein you each assign to the others your responsibility-never had to be made part of the document... because its the law. If it had been included, Holcroft might have been suspicious from the beginning." The doctor shook his head in respect, his eyes bright "But it never was because its the law."

"Precisely. And every legality must be observed. A month-six weeks-from now, itll be irrelevant, but until weve made substantive progress, there can be no alarms."

"I understand that," said Hans. "But actually, by Saturday noon, Holcrofts expendable, isnt he?"

Erich held up his hand. "Best put him under your drugs for a period of time, available for display, as it were. A functioning mental cripple ... until a great portion of the funds is dispersed. By then it wont matter; the world will be too preoccupied to care about an accident in Zurich. Right now we must do as Johann says. We must find Holcroft before his mother does."

"And under one pretext or another," added Von Tiebolt, "keep him isolated until our meeting the day after tomorrow. She will undoubtedly try to reach him, and then we will know where she is. We have men in Geneva who can take care of the rest." He hesitated. "As always, Hans, your brother addresses himself to what is optimum. But the answer to your question is yes. By noon Saturday, Holcroft is expendable. When I think about it, Im not sure the additional weeks are even desirable."

"You annoy me again," said the scholar. "I defer to your exotic mind in many things, but a deviation in strategy at this juncture is hardly welcome. Holcroft must be available. In your words, until 'substantive progress is made, there can be no alarms."

"I dont think there will be," replied Von Tiebolt. "The change Im implementing would be approved by our fathers. Ive moved up the timetable."

"Youve what?"

"When I used the word 'alarms, I referred to legalities, not Holcroft. Legalities are constant; life spans, never."

"What timetable? Why?"

"Second question first, and you may answer it." Johann stood in front of the older Kesslers chair. "What was the single most effective weapon of war the Fatherland employed? What strategy would have brought England to her knees had there been no hesitation? What were the lightning bolts that shook the world?"

"Blitzkrieg," said the doctor, answering for his brother.

"Yes. Swift, sharp onslaughts, out of nowhere. Men and weapons and machinery, sweeping across borders with extraordinary speed, leaving in their wake confusion and devastation. Whole peoples divided, unable to reform ranks, incapable of making decisions. The Blitzkrieg, Erich. We must adapt it now; we cant hesitate."

"Abstractions, Johann! Give me specifics!"

"Very well. Specific one: John Tennyson has written an article that will be picked up by the wire services and flashed everywhere tomorrow. The Tinamou kept records, and there is talk that theyve been found. Names of those powerful men whove hired him, dates, sources of payments. It will have the effect of massive electric shocks throughout the worlds power centers. Specific two: Saturday, the Geneva document is executed, the funds transferred to Zurich. Sunday, we move to our headquarters there; theyve been prepared; all communications are functioning. If Holcroft is with us, Hans has him narcotized; if not, hes dead. Specific three: Monday, the assets are deemed liquid and in our control. Using the Greenwich time zones, we begin cabling funds to our people, concentrating on the primary targets. We start right here in Geneva. Then to Berlin, Paris, Madrid, Lisbon, London, Washington, New York, Chicago, Houston, Los Angeles, and San Francisco. By five, Zurich time, we move into the Pacific Honolulu, the Marshalls, and the Gilberts. By eight we go into New Zealand, Auckland, and Wellington. By ten, its Australia-Brisbane, Sydney, Adelaide-then to Perth and across to Singapore, into the Far East. The first phase stops in New Delhi; on paper were financed over three quarters of the globe. Specific four: At the end of another twenty-four hours-Tuesday-we receive confirmations that the funds have been received and converted into cash, ready for use. Specific five: I will make twenty-three telephone calls from Zurich. They will be made to twenty-three men in various capitals who have employed the services of the Tinamou. They will be told that certain demands will be made of them during the next few weeks; they are expected to comply. Specific six: On Wednesday, it begins. The first killing will be symbolic. The Chancellor in Berlin, the leader of the Bundestag. We sweep westward in a Blitzkrieg." Von Tiebolt paused for a moment. "On Wednesday, Code Wolfsschanze is activated."

The telephone rang; at first no one seemed to hear it. Then Von Tiebolt answered it.

"Yes?"

He stared at the wall as he listened in silence. Finally he spoke. "Use the words I gave you," he said softly. "Kill them." He hung up.

"What is it?" asked the doctor.

Von Tiebolt, his hand still on the telephone, replied in a monotone. "It was only a guess-a possibility-but I sent a man to Neuchtel. To observe someone. And that someone met with another. Its no matter; they will soon be dead. My beautiful sister and a traitor named Werner Gerhardt."

It did not make sense, thought Holcroft, as he listened to Willie Elliss words over the phone. He had reached Willie at the dAccord from a booth in Genevas crowded Place Neuve, fully expecting the designer to have made contact with Althene by now. He hadnt; she wasnt there. But his mother had said the Htel dAccord. She would meet him at the Htel dAccord.

"Did you describe her? An American, around seventy, tall for a woman?"

"Naturally. Everything you mentioned a half hour ago. Theres no one here by the name of Holcroft, or any woman fitting the description. There are no Americans at all."

"Its crazy." Noel tried to think. Tennyson and the Kesslers werent due until evening; he had no one to turn to. Was his mother doing the same thing he was doing? Trying to reach him from outside the hotel, expecting hed be there? "Willie, call up the front desk and say you just heard from me. Use my name. Tell them I asked you if there were any messages for me."

"I dont think you understand the rules in Geneva," Willie said. "Messages between two people arent given to unknown third parties, and the dAccord is no exception. Frankly, when I asked about your mother, I was given some very odd looks. Despite my Louis Vuitton, the little bastard couldnt wait for me to stop talking."

"Try it anyway."

"Theres a better way. I think if I-" Willie stopped; from somewhere in the distance there was a tapping. "Just a minute; theres someone at the door. Ill get rid of whoever it is and be right back."

Noel could hear the sound of a door opening. There were voices, indistinct, questioning; a brief exchange took place, and then there were footsteps. Holcroft waited for Willie to get back on the line.

There was the sound of a cough, but more than a cough. What was it? The start of a cry? Was it the start of a cry?

"Willie?"

Silence. Then footsteps again.

"Willie?" Suddenly, Noel felt cold. And pain came back to his stomach as he remembered the words. The same words!

... Theres someone at the door. Ill get rid of whoever it is and be right back....

Another Englishman. Four thousand miles away in New York. And a match flaring up in the window across the courtyard.

Peter Baldwin.

"Willie! Willie, where are you?! Willie!"

There was a click. The line went dead.

Oh, Christ! What had he done? Willie!

Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead; his hands trembled.

He had to get to the dAccord! He had to get there as fast as he could and find Willie, help Willie. Oh, Christ! He wished the hammering pain would get out of his eyes!

He ran out of the phone booth and down the street to his car. He started the engine, unsure for a moment where he was or where he was going. The dAccord. Htel dAccord! It was on the rue des Granges, near the Puits-Saint-Pierre; a street lined with enormous old houses-mansions. The dAccord was the largest. On the hill... what hill? He had no idea how to get there!

He sped down to the corner; the traffic was stopped. He yelled through his window at a startled woman driving the car next to his.

"Please! The rue des Granges-which way?"

The woman refused to acknowledge his shouts; she pulled her eyes away and looked straight ahead.

"Please, someones been hurt! I think hurt badly. Please, lady! I cant speak French very well. Or German, or ... please!"

The woman turned back to him, studying him for a moment. Then she leaned over and rolled down the window.

"Rue des Granges?"

"Yes, please!"

She gave him rapid instructions. Five streets down, turn right toward the bottom of the hill, then left....

The traffic started up. Perspiring, Noel tried to memorize every word, every number, every turn. He shouted his thanks and pressed the accelerator.

He would never know how he found the old street, but it was suddenly there. He drove up the steep incline toward the top and saw the flat gold lettering: HTEL DACCORD.

His hands shaking, he parked the car and got out. He had to lock it; twice he tried to insert the key but could not hold his hand steady enough. So he held his breath and pressed his fingers against the metal until they stopped trembling. He had to control himself now; he had to think. Above all, he had to be careful. He had seen the enemy before, and he had fought that enemy. He could do so again.

He looked up at the dAccords ornate entrance. Beyond the glass doors, he could see the doorman talking with someone in the lobby. He could not go through that entrance and into that lobby; if the enemy had trapped Willie Ellis, that enemy was waiting for him.

There was a narrow alley that sloped downward at the side of the building. On the stone wall was a sign: LIVRAISONS.

Somewhere in that alley was a delivery entrance. He pulled the collar of his raincoat up around his neck and walked across the pavement, putting his hands in his pockets, feeling the steel of the revolver in his right, the perforated cylinder of the silencer in his left. He thought briefly of the giver, of Helden. Where was she? What had happened?

Nothing is as it was for you....

Nothing at all.

He reached the door as a tradesman in a white smock coat was leaving. He held up his hand and smiled at the man.

"Excuse me. Do you speak English?"

"But of course, monsieur. This is Geneva."

It was a harmless joke-thats all-but the foolish American with the broad smile would pay fifty francs for the cheap coat, twice its value new. The exchange was made swiftly; this was Geneva. Holcroft removed his raincoat and folded it over his left arm. He put on the smock and went inside.

Willie had reserved a suite on the third floor; its entrance was the last door in the corridor toward the street. Noel walked through a dark hallway that led to a darker staircase. At the landing, there was a cart against the wall, three small, unopened cases of hotel soap beneath one that was half empty. He removed the top carton, picked up the remaining three, and proceeded up the marble steps, hoping he looked even vaguely like someone who might belong there.

"Jacques? Cest vous?" The caller spoke from below, his voice pleasant.

Holcroft turned and shrugged.

"Pardon. Je croyais que cetait Jacques qui travaille chez la fleuriste."

"Non," said Noel quickly, continuing up the stairs.

He reached the third floor, put the cartons of soap on the staircase, and removed the smock. He put on his raincoat, felt the revolver, and opened the door slowly; there was no one in the corridor.

He walked to the last door on the right, listening for sounds; there were none. He remembered listening at another door in another hallway light-years away from this ivoried, ornamental corridor in which he now stood. In a place called Montereau.... There had been gunfire then. And death.

Oh, God, had anything happened to Willie? Willie, who had not refused him, who had been a friend when others could not be found. Holcroft took out the gun and reached for the knob. He stepped back as far as he could.

In one motion he twisted the knob and threw his full weight against the door, his shoulder a battering ram. The door sprang open unimpeded, crashing into the wall behind it; it had not been locked.

Noel crouched, the weapon leveled in front of him. There was no one in the room, but a window was open, the cold winter air billowing the curtains. He walked to it bewildered; why would a window be open in this weather?

Then he saw them: circles of blood on the sill. Someone had bled profusely. Outside the window was a fire escape. He could see streaks of red on the steps. Whoever had run down them had been severely wounded.

Willie?

"Willie? Willie, are you here?"

Silence.

Holcroft ran into the bedroom.

No one.

"Willie?"

He was about to turn around when he saw strange markings on the paneling of a closed door. The paneling was profuse with gold fluting and ornate fleurs-de-lis, pink and white and light blue. But what he saw was not part of the rococo design.

They were blurred handprints outlined in blood.

He raced to the door, kicking it in with such force that the paneling cracked and splintered.

What he saw was the horror of a lifetime. Arched over the rim of the empty bathtub was the mutilated body of Willie Ellis, soaked in blood. There were huge punctures in his chest and stomach, intestines protruding over his red-drenched shirt, his throat slashed so deeply that his head was barely attached to his neck, his eyes wide open, glaring upward in agony.

Noel collapsed, trying to swallow the air that would not fill his lungs.

And then he saw the word, scrawled in blood on the tiles above the mutilated corpse.

NACHRICHTENDIENST.