"It, too, would be helpful," said the Israeli.

"Erich!"

Kessler whipped around, his obese body rigid. He started to lower the phone, but Holcroft stopped him.

"Hold it! Who are you talking to?" Noel grabbed the telephone; he spoke into it. "Who is this?"

Silence.

"Who is this?"

"Please," said Kessler, regaining his composure. "Were trying to protect you. You cant be seen on the streets; you know that. Theyll kill you. Youre the key to Geneva."

"You werent talking about me!"

"Were trying to find your mother! You said she was traveling on a false passport, out of Lisbon. We didnt understand that. Johann knows people who provide such papers; we were discussing it now."

Holcroft spoke again into the phone. "Von Tiebolt? Is that you?"

"Yes, Noel," came the calm reply. "Erichs right. I have friends here who are trying to help us. Your mother could be in danger. You cant be a part of the search. You must stay out of sight."

" 'Cant?" Holcroft said the word sharply. " 'Must? Lets get something straight-both of you." Noel spoke into the phone, his eyes on Kessler. "Ill decide what I do and what I dont do. Is that clear?"

The scholar nodded. Von Tiebolt said nothing. Holcroft raised his voice. "I asked you if that was clear!"

"Yes, of course," said Johann finally. "As Erich has told you, we only want to help. This information about your mothers traveling on a passport thats not her own could be helpful. I know men who deal in such matters. Ill make calls and keep you informed."

"Please."

"If I dont see you before morning, well meet at the bank. I assume Erichs explained."

"Yes, he has. And, Johann ... Im sorry I blew; I know youre trying to help. The people were after are called the Nachrichtendienst, arent they? Thats what you found out in London."

There was a pause on the line. Then, "How did you know?"

"They left a calling card. I want those bastards."

"So do we."

"Thanks. Call me the minute you hear anything." Noel hung up. "Dont ever do that again," he told Kessler.

"I apologize. I thought I was doing the right thing. Just as I think you believed you were doing the right thing to have me followed from the dAccord."

"Its a lousy world these days," Noel said, reaching for the phone.

"What are you doing?"

"Theres a man in Curaao I want to talk to. He may know something."

"Oh, yes. The engineer whos been relaying your messages."

"I owe him."

Noel reached the overseas operator and gave her the number in Curaao. "Shall I stay on the line, or will you call me back?"

"The cables are not crowded at this hour, sir."

"Ill stay on." He sat on the bed and waited. Before ninety seconds had passed, he heard the ring of Buonoventuras phone.

A male voice answered. But it was not Sams voice.

"Yeah?"

"Sam Buonoventura, please."

"Who wants him?"

"A personal friend. Im calling from Europe."

"He aint gonna come runnin, mister. He aint takin no more phone calls."

"What are you talking about?"

"Sam bought it, mister. Some fuckin nigger native put a wire through his throat. Were beating the high grass and the beaches for that son of a bitch."

Holcroft lowered his head, his eyes closed, his breath suspended. His moves had been traced to Sam, and Sams help could not be tolerated. Buonoventura was his information center; he had to be killed, no more messages relayed. The Nachrichtendienst was trying to isolate him. He had owed Sam a debt, and that debt had been paid with death. Everything he touched was touched with death; he was its carrier.

"Dont bother with the high grass," he said, barely aware he was talking. "I killed him."

43.

"Did your son ever mention the name 'Tennyson?" asked Ben-Gadz.

"No."

"Damn it! When was the last time you talked with him?"

"After my husbands death. He was in Paris."

Yakov unfolded his arms; he had heard something he wanted to hear. "Was it the first time youd spoken since your husbands death?"

"His murder," corrected Althene. "Although I didnt know it then."

"Answer my question. Was it the first time youd talked since your husband died?"

"Yes."

"It was a sad conversation, then."

"Obviously. I had to tell him."

"Good. Such times cloud the mind; things are said that are rarely recalled with clarity. Thats when he mentioned the name 'Tennyson. He told you he was on his way to Geneva, probably with a man named Tennyson. Can you convey that to Von Tiebolt?"

"Certainly. But will he accept it?"

"He has no choice. He wants you."

"I want him."

"Make the call. And remember, youre close to hysterics; a panicked woman is unmanageable. Throw him off balance with your voice. Shout, whisper, stutter. Tell him you were to call your pilot at the seaplane base. Theres been a killing; it was swarming with police, and youre frightened out of your mind. Can you do it?"

"Just listen," said Althene, reaching for the phone.

The dAccord switchboard connected her to the room of its very important guest Mr. John Tennyson.

And Yakov listened in admiration as Althene performed.

"You must get hold of yourself, Mrs. Holcroft," said the stranger at the dAccord.

"Then you are the Tennyson my son referred to?"

"Yes. Im a friend. We met in Paris."

"For the love of God, can you help me?"

"Of course. It would be a privilege."

"Wheres Noel?"

"Im afraid I dont know.... He has business in Geneva with which Im not involved."

"Youre not?" A statement made in relief.

"Oh, no. We had dinner earlier-last night, actually-and he left to see his associates."

"Did he say where he was going?"

"Im afraid he didnt. You see, Im on my way to Milan.... In Paris, I told Noel Id stop over with him in Geneva and show him the city. Hes never been here, of course."

"Can you meet with me, Mr. Tennyson?"

"Certainly. Where are you?"

"We must be careful. I cant let you take risks."

"Theres no risk for me, Mrs. Holcroft. I move freely in Geneva."

"I dont. That dreadful business at Medoc."

"Come now, youre overwrought. Whatever it was, Im sure it doesnt concern you. Where are you? Where can we meet?"

"The train station. The north entrance waiting room. In forty-five minutes. God bless you."

She hung up abruptly. Yakov Ben-Gadz smiled in approval.

"Hell be very careful," said the Israeli. "Hell mount his defenses, and that will give us more time. Ill head for the dAccord. Ill need every minute."

Von Tiebolt replaced the receiver slowly. The possibilities of a trap were greater rather than fewer, he thought, but the evidence was not conclusive. He had purposely made the statement that Holcroft had never been to Geneva; it was a lie, and the old woman knew it. On the other hand, she sounded genuinely panicked, and a woman of her age in panic did not so much listen as wish to be listened to. It was conceivable that she had not heard the remark, or, if she had, that she considered it subordinate to her own concerns.

Holcrofts using the name "Tennyson"-if he had-was not out of character for the American. He was subject to quick emotional outbursts, often speaking without thinking. The news of Richard Holcrofts death in New York could easily have put him in such an emotional state that the name "Tennyson" slipped out without his realizing it.

On the other hand, the American had displayed strengths where strengths had not been thought to exist. Giving the name to his mother contradicted the discipline he had developed. And further, Johann knew that he was dealing with a woman who was capable of obtaining false papers, who had disappeared in Lisbon. He would take extraordinary precautions. He would not be trapped by an old woman in panic-or by one who pretended to be in panic.

The telephone rang, breaking his concentration.

"Yes?"

It was the first deputy. They were still trying to locate the accurate address of the telephone number given the dAccord by Mrs. Holcroft. A bureaucrat was on his way to the state telephone office to open a file. Von Tiebolt replied icily.

"By the time he finds it, it will be of no use to us. Ive made contact with the woman. Send a policeman driving an official car to the dAccord immediately. Tell him Im a visitor of state who requires a personal courtesy. Have him in the lobby in fifteen minutes." Von Tiebolt did not wait for a reply. He replaced the phone and went back to the table where there were two handguns. They had been broken down for cleaning; he would reassemble them quickly. They were two of the Tinamous favorite weapons.

If Althene Holcroft had the audacity to bait a trap, she would learn she was no match for the leader of Wolfsschanze. Her trap would snap back, crushing her in its teeth.

The Israeli stayed out of sight in an alleyway across from the dAccord. On the hotel steps, Von Tiebolt was talking quietly with a police officer, giving him instructions.

When they had finished talking, the officer ran to his car. The blond man walked to a black limousine at the curb and climbed in behind the wheel. Von Tiebolt wanted no chauffeur for the trip he was about to make.

Both cars drove off down the rue des Granges. Yakov waited until he could see neither, then, briefcase in hand, walked across the street to the dAccord.

He approached the front desk, the picture of weary officialdom. He sighed as he spoke to the clerk. "Police examiners. Ive been rousted from my bed to take additional scrapings from the dead mans room. That Ellis fellow. The inspectors never have ideas until everyone they need is asleep. Whats the number?"

"Third floor. Room thirty-one," said the clerk, grinning sympathetically. "Theres an officer on duty outside."

"Thanks." Ben-Gadz walked to the elevator, pressing the button for the fifth floor. John Tennyson was registered in room 512. There was no time to indulge in games with a policeman on guard duty. He needed every minute-every second-he could get.

The man in the uniform of the Geneva police walked through the north entrance of the railroad station, his leather heels clicking against the stone. He approached the old woman seated at the far end of the first row of benches.

"Mrs. Althene Holcroft?"

"Yes?"