What was she doing here? Of all the places in the world, why here? The answer was obvious: Noels mother was flying into Geneva secretly!

The old woman looked up, then looked away, uninterested, and Helden hurried as best she could across the path that led to a small building that was both waiting room and radio base. She went inside and approached a man standing behind a makeshift counter beyond which were telephones and radio equipment. "The woman outside. Who is she?"

The man looked up briefly from a clipboard, studying her. "No names are mentioned here," he said. "You should know that."

"But its terribly important! If shes who I think she is, shes in great danger. I say this to you because I know you know Dr. Litvak."

At the name, the man looked up again. It was apparent that at Atterrisage Medoc, they lived with risk and danger but avoided both where possible. And Dr. Litvak was obviously a trusted customer. "Shes waiting for a phone call."

"From whom?"

The man studied her again. "From one of our pilots: 'Le Chat rouge. Has she trouble with the police?"

"No."

"The Corsicans? Mafia?"

Helden shook her head. "Worse."

"Youre a friend of Dr. Litvak?"

"Yes. He booked the flight from Neuchtel for me. Check if you like."

"I dont have to. We dont want trouble here. Get her out."

"How? A cars supposed to drive me to a restaurant on the lake where Im to wait for a taxi. Itll be a half hour, Im told."

"Not now." The man looked past her. "Henri, come here." He took a set of car keys from under the counter. "Go talk to the old woman. Tell her she must leave. Henri will drive you."

"She may not listen."

"She has to. Youll have your transportation."

Helden went back outside as quickly as her wound permitted. Mrs. Holcroft was not on the bench, and for an instant Helden panicked. Then she saw her, out on the now-deserted dock, standing motionless in the moonlight. Helden started toward her.

The old woman turned at the sound of Heldens footsteps. She held her place and offered no greeting.

"Youre Mrs. Holcroft," said Helden. "Noels mother."

At the mention of her sons name, Althene Holcroft brought her hands together; she seemed to stop breathing. "Who are you?"

"A friend. Please believe that. More than you know."

"Since I know nothing, it can be neither more nor less."

"My name is Von Tiebolt."

"Then get out of my sight!" The old womans words were lashes in the night air. "Men here have been paid. Theyll not let you interfere with me. Theyll kill you first. Go join your wolfpack!"

"Im no part of Wolfsschanze, Mrs. Holcroft."

"Youre a Von Tiebolt!"

"If I were part of Wolfsschanze, I wouldnt come near you. Surely you understand that."

"I understand the filth you represent...."

"Ive lived with that judgment in one form or another all my life, but youre wrong! You must believe me. You cant stay here; its not safe for you. I can hide you; I can help you...."

"You? How? Through the barrel of a gun? Under the wheels of a car?"

"Please! I know why youve come to Geneva. Im here for the same reason. Weve got to reach him, tell him before its too late. The funds must be stopped!"

The old woman seemed stunned by Heldens words. Then she frowned, as if the words were a trap.

"Must they? Or must I? Well, I wont be. Im going to call out, and when I do, men will come. If they kill you, it means nothing to me. Youre thirty years of a lie! All of you! You wont reach anyone."

"Mrs. Holcroft! I love your son. I love him so much ... and if we dont reach him, hell be killed. By either side! Neither can let him live! Youve got to understand."

"Liar!" said Althene. "Youre all liars!"

"Damn you!" cried Helden. "No one will come to help you. They want you out of here! And Im not a cripple. This is a bullet in my leg! Its there because Im trying to reach Noel! You dont know what weve been through! You have no right to-"

There was a loud commotion from the small building on the waterfront. The two women could hear the words ... as they were meant to hear them.

"Youre not welcome here, monsieur! Theres no such woman as you describe! Please leave."

"Dont give me orders! Shes here!"

Helden gasped. It was a voice shed heard all her life.

"This is a private marina. I ask you again to leave!"

"Open that door!"

"What? What door?"

"Behind you!"

Helden turned to Althene Holcroft. "Ive no time to explain. I can only tell you Im your friend. Get into the water! Out of sight. Now!"

"Why should I believe you?" The old woman stared beyond Helden, to the base of the dock and the building; she was alarmed, indecisive. "Youre young and strong. You could easily kill me."

"That man wants to kill you," whispered Helden. "He tried to kill me."

"Who is he?"

"My brother. In the name of God, be quiet!"

Helden grabbed Althene around the waist and forced the old woman down to the wood of the dock. As gently as possible, she rolled both of them over the edge and into the water. Althene trembled, her mouth full of water; she coughed and thrashed her hands. Helden kept her arm around the old womans waist, holding her up, scissoring the water below.

"Dont cough! We cant make noise. Put the strap of your purse around your neck. Ill help you."

"Dear God, what are you doing?"

"Be quiet."

There was a small outboard motorboat moored thirty feet from the dock. Helden pulled Althene toward the protective shadows of its hull. They were halfway there when they heard the crash of a door and saw the beam of a powerful flashlight. It danced in ominous figures as the blond man ran toward the pier, then stopped and shot the light out at the water. Helden struggled, her leg an agony now, trying to reach the boat.

She could not do it; she had no strength in the leg, and the weight of the wet clothes was too much.

"Try to get to the boat," she whispered. "Ill head back ... hell see me and-"

"Be still!" said the old woman, her arms now spreading out in quick, floating motions, easing the burden on Helden. "Its the same man. Your brother. He has a gun. Hurry."

"I cant."

"You will."

Together, each supporting the other, they propelled themselves toward the boat.

The blond man was on the dock, the beam of the flashlight crisscrossing the waters surface in methodical patterns. In seconds the light would hit them; it was moving out like a deadly laser beam. The instant it centered on them, a fusillade of bullets would come and it would all be over.

Johann von Tiebolt was a superb marksman, and his sister knew it.

The blinding beam came; the hull was above them. Instinctively, both women put their faces in the water and surged underneath. The beam passed; they were behind the boat, the chain tangled in their clothes. They held on to it, a lifeline, filling their exhausted lungs with air.

Silence. Footsteps, at first slow and deliberate, then suddenly gathering momentum as Johann von Tiebolt left the dock. And then the crash of a door again, and voices again.

"Where did she go?"

"Youre mad!"

"Youre dead!"

A gunshot echoed through the waterfront. It was followed by a scream of pain, then a second gunshot. And then silence.

Minutes passed; the two women in the water looked at each other under the wash of moonlight. Tears filled the eyes of Helden von Tiebolt. The old woman touched the girls face and said nothing.

The roar of an engine broke the terror of the silence. Then spinning tires and the sound of erupting gravel from an unseen drive came from the shore. The two women nodded at each other, and, once more, each holding the other, started for the dock.

They crawled up a ladder and knelt in the darkness, breathing deeply.

"Isnt it odd," said Althene. "At one point I thought about my shoes. I didnt want to lose them."

"Did you?"

"No. Thats even stranger, I imagine."

"Mine are gone," said Helden aimlessly. She stood up. "We must leave. He may come back." She looked toward the building. "I dont want to go in there, but I think we have to. There was a set of car keys....?" She reached down to help the old woman up.

Helden opened the door and instantly closed her eyes. The man was slumped over the counter, his face blown off. For a moment the image of the mutilated head of Klaus Falkenheim flashed across her mind, and she wanted to scream. Instead, she whispered.

"Mein Bruder...."

"Come, child. Quickly now!" Unbelievably, it was the old woman who spoke, giving the order with authority. She had spotted a ring of keys. "Its better to take their car. I have one, but its been seen."

And then Helden saw the word, printed clearly in a heavy crayon on the floor beneath the dead man.

"No! Its a lie!"

"What is it?" The old woman grabbed the keys and rushed over to the girl.

"There. Its a lie!"

The word on the floor was written hastily, the letters large.

NACHRICHTENDIENST.

Helden limped toward it, sank to her knees, and tried to rub the letters away, her hands moving furiously, the tears streaming down her face. "A lie! A lie! They were great men!"

Althene touched the hysterical girls shoulder, then took her arm and pulled her off the floor. "Theres no time for this! You said it yourself. We must leave here."

Gently but firmly, the older woman led the younger out to the drive. A single light was on above the door, creating as much shadow as illumination. There were two cars-the one Althene had driven and a gray automobile with a license plate wired to the bumper. She guided Helden toward the latter.

And then stopped. Whatever control she had managed to summon was shattered.

The body of her red-haired pilot lay in the gravel. He was dead, his hands tied behind his back. All over his face-around his eyes and mouth-were slashes made by the blade of a knife.

He had been tortured and shot.

They drove in silence, each with her own agonizing thoughts. "Theres an apartment," said Helden finally. "Ive been given directions. Well be safe there. A man has flown in from London to help us. He should be there by now."

"Who is he?"

"A Jew from a place called Har Shaalav."

Althene looked at the girl through the racing shadows. "A Jew from Har Shaalav came to see me. Its why Im here."

"I know."

The door of the apartment was opened by a slender man with dark skin and very dark eyes. He was neither tall nor short, but he emanated raw physical power. This was conveyed by his enormous shoulders, accentuated by the stretched cloth of his white shirt, open at the neck, with the sleeves rolled up, displaying a pair of muscular arms. His black hair was trimmed, his face striking, as much for its rigid solemnity as for its features.

He studied the two women, then nodded, gesturing them inside. He watched Heldens limp without comment; observed their drenched clothing in the same manner.

"I am Yakov Ben-Gadz," he said. "So that we understand one another, it is I who will make the decisions."

"On what basis?" asked Althene.