Lirvaks eyes clouded. "Theres nothing to cable now, Theres no one left Now, tell me what happened down at the lake."

She did. When she had finished, the doctor helped her off the table and carried her into the large Alpine living room. He lowered her to the couch and summarized.

"Genevas the battleground, and theres not an hour to be lost. Even if Har Shaalav could be reached, it would be useless. But there is a man from Har Shaalav in London; hes been ordered to stay there. He followed Holcroft to Portsmouth. He was the one who took the photograph from Holcrofts pocket."

"It was a picture of Beaumont," said Helden. "ODESSA."

"Wolfsschanze," corrected Litvak. "A Sonnenkind. One of thousands, but also one of the few to work with VonTiebolt."

Helden raised herself, frowning. "The records. Beaumonts records. They didnt make sense."

"What records?"

She told the angry doctor about the obscure and contradictory information found in Beaumonts naval records. And of the similar dossier belonging to Beaumonts second-in-command, Ian Llewellen.

Litvak wrote down the name on a note pad. "How convenient. Two men of Wolfsschanze commanding an electronic-espionage vessel. How many more are there like them? In how many places?"

"Llewellen was quoted in the papers the other day. When Beaumont and Gretchen-" She could not finish.

"Dont dwell on it," said the doctor. "The Sonnenkinder have their own rules. Llewellen is a name to add to the list that must be found in Geneva. Gerhardt was right: Above all, that list must be found. Its as vital as stopping the money. In some ways, more vital."

"Why?"

"The funds are a means to the Fourth Reich, but the people are that Reich; theyll be there whether or not the funds are dispersed. Weve got to find out who they are."

Helden leaned back. "My ... Johann von Tlebolt can be killed. So, too, can Kessler and ... if its necessary ... even Noel. The money can be stopped. But how can we be sure the list will be found?"

"The man from Har Shaalav in London will have ideas. He has many talents." Litvak glanced briefly away. "You should know, because youll have to work with him. Hes called a killer and a terrorist. He doesnt consider himself either, but the laws hes broken and the crimes hes committed would tend to dispute that judgment." The doctor glanced at his watch. "Its three minutes of nine; he lives less than a mile from Heathrow. If I can contact him, he can be in Geneva by midnight Do you know where Holcroft is staying?"

"Yes. At the dAccord. You understand, he knows nothing. He believes deeply in what hes doing. He thinks its right."

"I understand. Unfortunately, that may be irrelevant in terms of his life. The first thing, however, is to reach him."

"I said Id call him tonight."

"Good. Let me help you to the telephone. Be careful what you say. Hell be watched; his line will be tapped." Litvak helped her to the table where the phone was.

"Htel dAccord. Bonsoir," said the operator.

"Good evening. Mr. Noel Holcroft, please?"

"Monsieur Holcroft?..." The operator hesitated. "Just one minute, madame."

There was a silence, a click, and a man spoke. "Mrs. Holcroft?"

"What?"

"This is Mrs. Holcroft, is it not?"

Helden was surprised. Something was wrong; the switchboard had not even tried to ring Noels room. "You were expecting me, then?" she asked.

"But of course, madame," replied the desk clerk with confidentiality. "Your son was most generous. He said to tell you its imperative you remain out of sight, but you are to leave a telephone number where he can reach you."

"I see. Just one minute, please." Helden cupped the phone and turned to Litvak. "They think Im Mrs. Holcroft. Hes paid them to take a number where he can reach her."

The doctor nodded and walked quickly to a desk. "Keep talking. Say you want to make sure this number will not be given to anyone else. Offer money. Anything to stall them." Litvak took out a worn address book.

"Before I give you a number, Id like to be certain ..." Helden paused; the desk clerk swore on his mothers grave he would give the number only to Holcroft. The doctor rushed back to the table, a number written on a slip of paper. Helden repeated it to the desk clerk and hung up. "Where is this?" she asked Litvak.

"It reaches an empty apartment on the rue de la Paix, but the apartment is not at the address listed with the telephone exchange. Here it is." Litvak wrote the address beneath the number. "Memorize them both."

"I will."

"Now, Ill try our man in London," said the doctor, heading for the staircase. "I have radio equipment here. It links me with a routine-mobile-telephone service." He stopped on the bottom step. "Ill get you to Geneva. You wont be able to move around much, but the wound isnt deep; your stitches will hold under the pressure of the bandage, and youll have the chance to reach Holcroft. I hope you do, and I hope youre successful Noel Holcroft must walk away from Von Tiebolt and Kessler. If he fights you, if he even hesitates, he must be killed."

"I know."

"Knowing it may not be enough. Im afraid the decision will not be yours to make."

"Whose, then? Yours?"

"I cant leave Neuchtel. It will be up to the man in London."

"The terrorist? The killer who has only to hear the word 'Nazi and he fires a gun?"

"Hell be objective," said Litvak, continuing up the staircase. "He wont have other pressures on him. Youll meet him at the apartment."

"How will I get to Geneva? I-" Helden stopped.

"What?"

"I asked how I would get to Geneva. Are there trains?"

"Theres no time for trains. Youll fly."

"Fine. It will be quicker."

"Much quicker."

And far better, thought Helden. For the one thing she had not relayed to the doctor was Werner Gerhardts final warning. To her.

My child. Stay away from Geneva.... Wolfsschanze has seen you.

"Who will take me?"

"There are pilots who fly the lakes at night," said Litvak.

Althene was irritated, but she had agreed to the condition. The pilot had asked her a single question.

"Do you know by sight the people who are looking for you?"

She had replied that she did not.

"You may before the night is over."

Which was why she was standing now beside a tree in the dark woods above the road in sight of the car. It was a sloping forest of pine that rose above the lakeside highway. She had been guided to her watch post by the pilot.

"If your son is there, Ill send him to you," he had said.

"Of course hell be there. Why wouldnt he?"

"Well see."

For a moment his doubts had disturbed her. "If hes not, what then?"

"Then youll know who it is whos looking for you." He had started back toward the road.

"What about you?" she had called after him. "If my son isnt there?"

"Me?" The pilot had laughed. "Ive been through many such negotiations. If your son isnt there, it will mean they are desperate to find you, wont it? Without me, they cant have you."

She waited now by the tree, no more than forty yards away, the line of sight reasonably clear considering the profusion of limbs and branches. The car was off the side of the road, pointing north, its parking lights on. The pilot had told the man at the dAccord to be there in one hour, not before, and to approach from the south, blinking his lights repeatedly within a quarter of a mile of the rendezvous.

"Can you hear me, madame?" The pilot stood by the car and spoke in a normal tone of voice.

"Yes."

"Good. Theyre coming. Lights are flashing on and off down the road. Stay where you are; watch and listen, but dont show yourself. If your son steps out, say nothing until I send him to you." The pilot paused. "If they force me to go with them, get to the landing on the west side of the lake, where we flew in. Its called Atterrisage Medoc. Ill reach you there.... I dont like this."

"Why? What is it?"

"There are two men in the car. The one next to the driver holds up a weapon; he checks it, perhaps."

"How would I get there?" asked Althene.

"Theres a second set of keys in a small magnet box under the hood." The bearded man raised one hand to his mouth, speaking loudly above the roar of the approaching automobile. "On the right side. Be still!"

A long black car came to a stop ten yards in front of the pilot. A man on the passenger side got out, but it was not her son. He was stocky, wearing an overcoat with the lapels pulled up, a heavy muffler around his throat Large-framed dark glasses covered his eyes, giving him the appearance of a huge insect. He limped as he walked into the spill of the headlights.

The driver remained behind the wheel. Althene stared at him, hoping to recognize Noel. It was not he; she could not see the mans face clearly, but the hair was blond.

"Mrs. Holcroft is in the car, I presume," said the man with the dark glasses to the pilot. The language was English but the accent unmistakably German.

"Her son is in yours, then?" replied the pilot.

"Please ask Mrs. Holcroft to step out."

"Please ask her son to do the same."

"Dont be difficult. We have a schedule to keep."

"So do we. Theres only one other person in your automobile, monsieur. He doesnt fit the description of her son."

"Well take Mrs. Holcroft to him."

"Well take him to Mrs. Holcroft."

"Stop it!"

"Stop what, monsieur? I am paid, as Im sure you are paid. We both do our jobs, do we not?"

"Ive no time for you!" the German shouted, limping past the pilot, toward the car.

The pilot nodded. "May I suggest you find the time. For you wont find Mrs. Holcroft."

"Du Sauhund! Wo ist die Frau?"

"May I further suggest, monsieur, that you dont call me names. I come from Chlons-sur-Marne. Twice you won there, and I was brought up with a certain distaste for your name-calling."

"Where is the woman?"

"Where is the son?"

The German took his right hand from his overcoat pocket. He was holding a gun. "Youre not paid so much that its worth your life. Where is she?"

"And you, monsieur? Perhaps youre paid too much to shoot me and not find out."

The gunshot was deafening. Dirt exploded at the pilots feet. Althene gripped the tree in shock.

"Now, Frenchman, perhaps you see that payment is not so important to me as the woman. Where is she?"

"Les Boches!" said the pilot in disgust. "Give you a gun and you go mad. You never change. If you want the woman, youll produce the son and I will take him to her."

"Youll tell me where she is now!" The German raised his gun, leveling it at the pilots head. "Now!"

Althene could see the car door open. A gunshot exploded, then another. The pilot lunged to the dirt. The German screamed, his eyes bulging. "Johann? Johann!"

There was a third explosion. The German collapsed on the road; the pilot scrambled to his feet.

"He was going to kill you," yelled the driver, his voice incredulous. "We knew he was sick, but not insane. What can I say?"

"He would have killed me?..." The pilot asked the question no less incredulously. "It doesnt make sense!"

"Of course it didnt," said the blond man. "Your request made sense. First, help me pull him into the woods and remove his identification. Then come with me."

"Who are you?"

"A friend of Holcrofts."