The Holcroft Covenant (44 page)

“Yes, a few. Our base of operations was in Santa Catarina. Rio was too dangerous.”

“What operations? Who’s ‘we’?”

“Those of us in Brazil who fought the O
DESSA.
” Tennyson shook his head. “I have an apology to make. Helden was right: I did you an injustice. You’ve told the truth.”

Noel had the sensation of having been vindicated when vindication had not been sought. He felt awkward questioning a man who had fought the O
DESSA
; who had rescued children from death as surely as if he’d taken them out of Auschwitz, or Belsen; who had trained the woman he loved to survive. But he
had
questions; it was no time to forget them.

“It’s my turn now,” said Noel. “You’re very quick, and you know about things I’ve never heard of, but I’m not sure you’ve said a hell of a lot.”

“If one of your questions concerns the Tinamou,” said Tennyson, “I’m sorry, but I won’t answer you. I won’t even discuss it.”

Holcroft was stunned. “You won’t
what?
”

“You heard me. The Tinamou is a subject I won’t discuss. It’s not your business.”

“I think it is! For starters, let’s put it this way: If you won’t discuss the Tinamou, we haven’t
anything
to discuss.”

Tennyson paused, startled. “You mean that, don’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then try to understand me. Nothing can be left to chance now, to the offhand possibility—no matter how remote—that the wrong word might be dropped to the wrong person. If I’m right, and I think I am, you’ll have your answer in a matter of days.”

“That’s not good enough!”

“Then I’ll go one step further. The Tinamou was trained in Brazil. By the O
DESSA.
I’ve studied him as thoroughly as any man on earth. I’ve been tracking him for six years.”

It took several seconds for Noel to find his voice. “You’ve been … for six years?”

“Yes. It’s time for the Tinamou to strike; there’ll be another assassination. It’s why the British contacted you; they know it, too.”

“Why don’t you work with them? For God’s sake, do you know what they think!”

“I know what someone’s tried to
make
them think. It’s why I can’t work with them. The Tinamou has sources everywhere; they don’t know him, but he uses them.”

“You said a matter of days.”

“If I’m wrong, I’ll tell you everything. I’ll even go to the British with you.”

“A matter of days.… Okay. We’ll pass on the Tinamou—for a matter of days.”

“Whatever else I can tell you, I will. I’ve nothing to hide.”

“You knew Beaumont in Rio, knew he was part of the O
DESSA.
You even accused me of having gotten his name from Graff. Yet in spite of all this, he married your sister. O
DESSA
to O
DESSA?
Are you one of them?”

Tennyson did not waver. “A question of priorities. Put simply, it was planned. My sister Gretchen is not the woman she once was, but she’s never lost her hatred of the Nazis. She’s made a sacrifice greater than any of us. We know every move that Beaumont makes.”

“But he knows you’re Von Tiebolt! Why doesn’t he tell Graff?”

“Ask him, if you like. He may tell you.”

“
You
tell me.”

“He’s afraid to,” replied Tennyson. “Beaumont is a pig. Even his commitments lack cleanliness. He works less and less for the O
DESSA
, and only then when they threaten him.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Gretchen has her own … shall we say, persuasive powers; I think you’re aware of them. Beyond these, a large sum of untraceable money found its way into Beaumont’s account. In addition to these circumstances, he fears exposure from Graff on one side … and from me on the other. He’s useful to us both, more so to me than to Graff, of course. He’s checkmated.”

“If you knew every move he made, you had to know he was on that plane to Rio. You had to know he was following me.”

“How could I? I didn’t know
you
.”

“He was there. Someone sent him!”

“When Helden told me, I tried to find out who. What I learned was very little, but enough to alarm me. In my judgment, our checkmated pig was reached by a third party. Someone who had unearthed his O
DESSA
connection and was using him—as Graff used him. As I used him.”

“Who?”

“I wish to heaven I knew! He was granted an emergency leave from his ship in the Mediterranean. He went to Geneva.”

“Geneva?” Noel’s memory raced back. To a fragment of time obscured by swift movement, and rushing crowds, and screams … on a station platform. On a
concrete station platform
. A fight had broken out; a man had arched backward with blood on his shirt, another had gone after a third.… A man in panic had raced by, his eyes wide in fright, beneath … thick eyebrows of black and white hair. “That was it,” said Holcroft, astonished. “Beaumont was in Geneva.”

“I just told you that.”

“That’s where I saw him! I couldn’t remember where before. He followed me from Geneva.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Where’s Beaumont now?” asked Noel.

“Back on board ship. Gretchen left several days ago to join him. In Saint-Tropez, I think.”

Tomorrow I go to the Mediterranean. To a man I loathe
.… Everything made so much more sense now. Perhaps Tennyson was not the only man in that room who had been unfair in his judgments.

“We’ve got to find out who sent Beaumont after me,”
said Noel, picturing the man in a black leather jacket. Tennyson was right; their conclusions were the same, There
was
someone else.

“I agree,” said the blond man. “Shall we go together?”

Holcroft was tempted. But he had not finished. There could be no unanswered questions later. Not once the commitment had been made between them.

“Maybe,” he replied. “There are two other things I want to ask you about. And I warn you, I want the answers now, not in a ‘matter of days.’ ”

“All right.”

“You killed someone in Rio.”

Tennyson’s eyes narrowed. “Helden told you.”

“I had to know; she understood that. There are conditions in Geneva that won’t allow surprises. If you can be blackmailed, I can’t let you go on.”

Tennyson nodded. “I see.”

“Who was it? Whom did you kill?”

“You mistake my reticence,” replied the blond man. “I’ve no compunction whatsoever about telling you who it was. I’m trying to think how you can check up on what I say. There’s no blackmail involved. There couldn’t be; but how can you be sure?”

“Let’s start with a name.”

“Manuel Cararra.”

“Cararra?…”

“Yes. It’s why those two young people used it. They knew I’d see the political connection. Cararra was a leader in the Chamber of Deputies, one of the most powerful men in the country. But his allegiance was not to Brazil; it was to Graff. To the O
DESSA.
I killed him seven years ago, and I’d kill him tomorrow.”

Noel studied Tennyson’s face. “Who knew?”

“A few old men. Only one’s still alive. I’ll give you his name, if you like. He’d never say anything about the killing.”

“Why not?”

“The shoe, as they say, was on the other foot. Before I left Rio de Janeiro, I met with them. My threat was clear. If ever they pursued me, I would make public what I knew about Cararra. The long-revered image of a conservative martyr would be shattered. The conservative cause in Brazil can’t tolerate that.”

“I want the name.”

“I’ll write it out for you.” Tennyson did. “I’m sure you can reach him by transatlantic telephone. It won’t take much; my name coupled with Cararra’s should be enough.”

“I may do that.”

“By all means,” said Tennyson. “He’ll confirm what I’ve told you.”

The two men faced each other, only feet apart. “There was a subway accident in London,” Noel went on. “A number of people were killed, including a man who worked for the
Guardian
. He was the man whose signature was on your employment records. The man who interviewed you, the only one who could shed any light on how or why you were hired.”

Tennyson’s eyes were suddenly cold again. “It was a shock. I’ll never get over it. What is your question?”

“There was another accident. In New York. Only days ago. A number of innocent people were killed then, too, but one of them was the target. Someone I loved very much.”

“I repeat! What’s your
point
, Holcroft?”

“There’s a certain similarity, wouldn’t you say? MI Five doesn’t know anything about the accident in New York, but it has very specific ideas about the one in London. I’ve put them together and come up with a disturbing connection. What do you know about that accident five years ago in London?”

Tennyson’s body was rigid. “Watch out,” he said. “The British go too far. What do you want of me? How far will you go to discredit me?”

“Cut the bullshit!” said Noel. “What happened in that subway?”

“I was
there!
” The blond man thrust his hand up to his collar beneath the pinstriped suit. He yanked furiously, ripping his shirt half off his chest, exposing a scar that extended from the base of his throat to his breast “I don’t know anything about New York, but the experience in Charing Cross five years ago is one I’ll live with for the rest of my life! Here it is; there’s not a day when I’m not reminded of it. Forty-seven stitches, neck to thorax. I thought for a few moments—five years ago in London— that my head had been half cut off from the rest of me. And that man you speak of so enigmatically was my dearest friend in England! He helped get us out of Brazil.
If someone killed him, they tried to kill me, too! I was with him.”

“I didn’t know.… The British didn’t say anything. They didn’t know you were there.”

“Then I suggest someone look. There’s a hospital record around somewhere. It shouldn’t be hard to find.” Tennyson shook his head in disgust. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be angry at you. It’s the British; they’ll use anything.”

“It’s possible they really didn’t know.”

“I suppose so. Hundreds of people were taken off that train. A dozen clinics in London were filled that night; no one paid much attention to names. But you’d think they would have found mine. I was in the hospital for several days.” Tennyson stopped abruptly. “You said someone you loved was killed in New York only a few days ago? What happened?”

Noel told him how Richard Holcroft had been run down in the streets, and of the theory conceived by David Miles. It was pointless to withhold anything from this man he had come close to misjudging so completely.

In the telling was the conclusion both men had arrived at.

In my judgment, our checkmated pig was reached by a third party
.

Who?

I wish to heaven I knew
.…

Someone else
.

A man in a black leather jacket. Defiant in a dark alley in Berlin. Willing to die … asking to be shot. Refusing to say who he was or where he came from. Someone or something more powerful, more knowledgeable, than the Rache or the
O
DESSA.

Someone else
.

Noel told Tennyson everything, relieved that he could say it all. The relief was heightened by the way the blond man listened. His speckled gray eyes never wavered from Holcroft’s face; they were riveted, totally absorbed. When he had finished, Noel felt exhausted. “That’s all I know.”

Tennyson nodded. “We’ve finally met, haven’t we? We both had to say what was on our minds. We both thought the other was the enemy, and we were both wrong. Now, we have work to do.”

“How long have you known about Geneva?” asked
Holcroft. “Gretchen told me that you said a man would come one day and speak of a strange arrangement.”

“Since I was a child. My mother told me there was an extraordinary sum of money that was to be used for great works, to make amends for the terrible things done in Germany’s name, but not by true Germans. But only that fact, no specifics.”

“You don’t know Erich Kessler, then.”

“I remember the name, but only vaguely. I was very young.”

“You’ll like him.”

“As you describe him, I’m sure I will. You say he’s bringing his brother to Geneva? Is that allowed?”

“Yes. I said I’d telephone him in Berlin and give him dates.”

“Why not wait until tomorrow or the day after? Call him from Saint-Tropez?”

“Beaumont?”

“Beaumont,” said Tennyson, his mouth set. “I think we should meet with our checkmated pig. He has something to tell us. Specifically, who was his latest employer? Who sent him to that train station in Geneva? Who paid him for—or blackmailed him into—following you to New York and then to Rio de Janeiro? When we find this out, we’ll know where your man in the black leather jacket came from.”

Someone else
.

Noel looked at his watch. It was nearly six o’clock; he and Tennyson had talked for more than two hours, yet there was still a great deal more to say. “Do you want to have dinner with your sister and me?” he asked.

Tennyson smiled. “No, my friend. We’ll talk on our way south. I’ve calls to make and copy to file. I mustn’t forget I’m a newspaperman. Where are you staying?”

“At the George Cinq. Under the name of Fresca.”

“I’ll phone you later this evening.” Tennyson extended his hand. “Until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Incidentally, if my fraternal blessings mean anything, you have them.”

Johann von Tiebolt stood at the railing of the terrace in the cold air of the early evening. Below, on the
street, he could see Holcroft emerge from the building and walk east on the sidewalk.

It had all been so easy. The orchestration of lies had been studiously thought out and arranged, the rendering underpinned with outraged conviction and sudden revelation that led to acceptance. An old man would be alerted in Rio; he knew what to say. A medical record would be placed in a London hospital, the dates and information corresponding to a tragic accident on the Charing Cross underground five years ago. And if all went according to schedule, a news item would be carried in the evening papers reporting another tragedy. A naval officer and his wife had disappeared in a small pleasure boat off the Mediterranean coast.