Helden could hear footsteps outside the door. They stopped; there was a moment of silence, then rapid knocking.

"Herr Gerhardt?"

The old man answered, his voice now high pitched and in the singsong cadence he had used in the square. "Good heavens, who is it? Its very late; Im in the middle of my prayers."

"I bring you news from Har Shaalav."

The old man exhaled in relief, and nodded to Helden. "Hes one of us," he said, unlatching the bolt "No one but us knows about Har Shaalav."

The door opened. For the briefest instant Helden froze, then spun out of the chair and lunged for the floor. The figure in the doorway held a large-barreled gun in his hand; its explosion was thunderous. Gerhardt arched backward, blown off his feet, his body a contorted bloody mass, suspended in the air before it fell into the desk.

Helden lurched behind the leather armchair, reaching for the pistol under her skirt.

There was another gunshot as thunderous as the first. The leather back of the chair exploded out of its shell. Another, and she felt an icelike pain in her leg. Blood spread over her stocking.

She raised the pistol and squeezed the trigger repeatedly, aiming-and not aiming-at the huge figure in shadows by the door.

She heard the man scream. In panic, she crashed into the wall, a cornered insect, trapped, about to lose its insignificant life. Tears streamed down her face as she aimed again and pulled the trigger until the firing stopped, replaced by the sickening clicks of the empty gun. She screamed in terror; there were no bullets left She hoped to God her death would come quickly.

She heard her screams-she heard them-as if she were floating in the sky, looking below at chaos and smoke.

There was smoke. Everywhere. It filled the room, the acrid fumes stinging her eyes, blinding her. She did not understand; nothing happened.

Then she heard faint, whispered words.

"My child...."

It was Gerhardt! Sobbing, she pressed her hand against the wall and pushed herself away. Dragging her bloodied leg, she crawled toward the source of the whisper.

The smoke was beginning to clear. She could see the figure of the killer. He was lying on his back, small red circles in his throat and forehead. He was dead.

Gerhardt was dying. She crept to him and put her face on his face, her tears falling on his flesh.

"My child... get to Litvak. Cable Har Shaalav. Stay away from Geneva."

"Stay away?..."

"You, child. They know you came to me. Wolfsschanze has seen you.... Youre all thats left. Nachricht-"

"What?"

"You are ... Nachrichtendienst."

Gerhardts head slipped away from her face. He was gone.

39.

The red-bearded pilot walked rapidly down the rue des Granges toward the parked car. Inside, Althene saw him approaching. She was alarmed. Why hadnt the pilot brought her son with him? And why was he hurrying so?

The pilot climbed in behind the wheel, pausing for a moment to catch his breath.

"Theres great confusion at the dAccord, madame. A killing."

Althene gasped. "Noel? Is it my son?"

"No. An Englishman."

"Who was it?"

"A man named Ellis. A William Ellis."

"Dear God!" Althene gripped her purse. "Noel had a friend in London named Ellis. He talked about him frequently. Ive got to reach my son!"

"Not in there, madame. Not if theres a connection between your son and the Englishman. The police are everywhere, and theres an alert out for you."

"Get to a telephone."

"Ill make the call. It may be the last thing I do for you, madame. I have no wish to be associated with killing; thats not part of any agreement between us."

They drove for nearly fifteen minutes before the pilot was satisfied no one had followed them.

"Why should anyone follow us?" Althene asked. "Nobody saw me; you didnt mention my name. Or Noels."

"Not you, madame. Me. I dont make it a point to fraternize with the Geneva police. I have run into a few now and then, off and on. We dont get along very well."

They entered the lakefront district, the pilot scanning the streets for an out-of-the-way telephone. He found one, swerved the car to the curb, and dashed outside to the booth. Althene watched him make the call. Then he returned, got behind the wheel more slowly than he had left it, and sat for a moment, scowling.

"For heavens sake, what happened?"

"I dont like it," he said. "They expected a call from you."

"Of course. My son arranged it."

"But it was not you on the phone. It was me."

"What difference does it make? I had someone call for me. What did they say?"

"Not they. He. And what he said was far too specific. In this city, one is not that free with information. Specifics are exchanged when ears recognize voices, or when certain words are used that mean the caller has a right to know."

"What was the information," asked Althene, irritated.

"A rendezvous. As soon as possible. Ten kilometers north, on the road to Vesenaz. Its on the east side of the lake. He said your son would be there."

"Then well go."

" 'We, madame?"

"Id like to negotiate further with you."

She offered him five hundred American dollars. "Youre crazy," he said.

"We have an agreement, then?"

"On the condition that until you and your son are together, you do exactly as I say," he replied. "I dont accept such money for failure. However, if hes not there, thats no concern of mine. I get paid."

"Youll be paid. Lets go."

"Very well." The pilot started the car.

"Why are you suspicious? It all seems quite logical to me," said Althene.

"I told you. This city has its own code of behavior. In Geneva, the telephone is the courier. A second number should have been given, so that you yourself could talk with your son. When I suggested it, I was told there wasnt time."

"All quite possible."

"Perhaps, but I dont like it. The switchboard said they were connecting me to the front desk, but the man I talked with was no clerk."

"How do you know that?"

"Desk clerks can be arrogant and often are, but they arent demanding. The man I spoke with was. And he wasnt from Geneva. He had an accent I couldnt place. Youll do exactly as I say, madame."

Von Tiebolt replaced the phone and smiled in satisfaction. "We have her," he said simply, walking to the couch where Hans Kessler lay holding an ice pack to his right cheek, his face bruised where it had not been stitched by the first deputys personal physician.

"Ill go with you," said Hans, his voice strained in anger and pain.

"I dont think so," interjected his brother from a nearby armchair.

"You cant be seen," added Von Tiebolt. "Well tell Holcroft you were delayed."

"No!" roared the doctor, slamming his fist on the coffee table. "Tell Holcroft anything you like, but Im going with you tonight. That bitch is responsible for this!"

"Id say you were," said Von Tiebolt "There was a job to do and you wanted to do it. You were most anxious. You always are in such matters; youre a very physical man."

"He wouldnt die! That faggot wouldnt die!" Hans yelled. "He had the strength of five lions. Look at my stomach!" He ripped the shirt below his face, revealing a curving pattern of crisscrossed black threads. "He tore it with his hands! With his hands!"

Erich Kessler turned his eyes from his brothers wound. "You were lucky to get away without being seen. And now we must get you out of this hotel. The police are questioning everyone."

"They wont come here," countered Hans angrily. "Our deputys taken care of that."

"Nevertheless, one curious policeman walking through the door could lead to complications," Von Tiebolt said, looking at Erich. "Hans must go. Dark glasses, a muffler, his hat. The deputys in the lobby." The blond man shifted his gaze to the wounded brother. "If you can move, youll have your chance at the Holcroft woman. That may make you feel better."

"I can move," said Hans, his face contorted in pain.

Johann turned back to the older Kessler. "Youll stay here, Erich. Holcroft will start calling soon, but he wont identify himself until he recognizes your voice. Be solicitons; be concerned. Say I reached you in Berlin and asked you to get here early, that I tried to call him in Paris, but hed gone. Then tell him that were both shocked at what happened here this afternoon. The man who was killed had been asking about him; were both concerned for his safety. He must not be seen at the dAccord."

"I could say that someone fitting his description was seen leaving by the service entrance," added the scholar. "He was in a state of shock; hell accept that. It will add to his panic."

"Excellent. Meet him and take him to the Excelsior. Register under the name of"-the blond man thought for a moment-"under the name of Fresca. If he has any lingering doubts, that will convince him. He never used the name with you; hell know weve met and talked."

"Fine," said Erich. "And at the Excelsior, Ill explain that because of everything thats happened, you reached the banks directors and set up the conference for tomorrow morning. The quicker its over, the quicker we can get to Zurich and set up proper security measures."

"Excellent again, Herr Professor. Come, Hans," Von Tiebolt said, "Ill help you."

"Its not necessary," said the bull of Munichs district soccer, his expression belying his words. "Just get my bag."

"Of course." Von Tiebolt picked up the physicians leather case. "Im fascinated. You must tell me what you intend to inject. Remember, we want a death, but not a killing."

"Dont worry," Hans said. "Everythings clearly coded. Therell be no mistakes."

"After our meeting with the Holcroft woman," said Von Tiebolt, draping an overcoat over Hanss shoulders, "well decide where Hans should stay tonight. Perhaps at the deputys house."

"Good idea," agreed the scholar. "The doctor would be available."

"I dont need him," argued Hans, his breath escaping between clenched teeth, his walk hesitant and painful. "I could have sewn myself up; hes not very good. Auf wiedersehen, Erich."

"Auf wiedersehen."

Von Tiebolt opened the door, looked back at Erich, and escorted the wounded Hans out into the corridor. "You say each vial is coded?"

"Yes. For the woman, the serum will accelerate her heart to the point ..."

The door closed. The older Kessler shifted his bulk in the chair. It was the way of Wolfsschanze; there was no other decision. The physician who had tended Hans made it clear that there was internal bleeding; the organs had been severely damaged, as if torn by claws possessing extraordinary strength. Unless Hans were taken to the hospital, he could easily die. But his brother could not be admitted to a hospital; questions would be asked. A man had been killed that afternoon at the dAccord; the wounded patient had been at the dAccord. Too many questions. Besides, Hanss contributions were in the black leather case Johann carried. The Tinamou would learn everything they had to know. Hans Kessler, Sonnenkind, was no longer needed; he was a liability.

The telephone rang. Kessler picked it up.

"Erich?"

It was Holcroft.

"Yes?"

"Im in Geneva. You got here early; I thought Id try."

"Yes, Von Tiebolt called me this morning in Berlin; he tried to reach you in Paris. He suggested-"

"Has he arrived?" interrupted the American.

"Yes. Hes out making the final arrangements for tomorrow. Weve got a great deal to tell you."

"And Ive got a great deal to tell you," said Holcroft. "Do you know whats happened?"