«What?»
«My mother. Or even Helden. She should be calling.»
«Yes, of course. I’m sure they’ll both reach you.»
The last article of record was the formal release of the account. A computer had been preset. Upon the signatures of everyone in the room, the codes would be punched, the funds made liquid and transferred to a bank in Zurich.
All signed. The director on the right picked up a telephone. «Enter the following numbers on computer bank eleven. Are you ready?… Six, one, four, four, two. Break four. Eight, one, zero, zero. Break zero… Repeat, please.» The director listened, then nodded. «Correct. Thank you.»
«Is it complete, then?» asked his colleague.
«It is,» answered the director. «Gentlemen, as of this moment, the sum of seven hundred and eighty million American dollars is in your collective names at La Banque du Livre, Zurich. May you have the wisdom of prophets, and may your decisions be guided by God.»
Outside, on the street, Von Tiebolt turned to Holcroft. «What are your plans, Noel? We must still be careful, you know. The Nachrichtendienst won’t take this easily.»
«I know… Plans? I’m going to keep trying to find my mother. She’s somewhere; she’s got to be.»
«I’ve arranged through my friend, the first deputy, for the three of us to receive police protection. Your detail will pick you up at the Excelsior, ours at the d’Accord. Unless, of course, you’d prefer to move in with us.»
«That’s too much work,» said Holcroft. «I’m half settled now. I’ll stay at the Excelsior.»
«Shall we go to Zurich in the morning?» asked Kessler, deferring the decision to Von Tiebolt.
«It might be a good idea for us to travel separately,» said Holcroft. «If the police have no objections, I’d just as soon go by car.»
«Very good thinking, my friend,» said Von Tiebolt. «The police won’t object, and traveling separately makes sense. You take the train, Erich; I’ll fly; and Noel will drive. I’ll make us reservations at the Columbine.»
Holcroft nodded. «If I don’t hear from my mother or Helden by tomorrow, I’ll leave word for them to reach me there,» he said. «I’ll grab a cab.» He walked rapidly to the corner. Another minute and the rage within him would have exploded. He would have killed Von Tiebolt with his bare hands.
Johann spoke quietly. «He knows. How much, I’m not certain. But he knows.»
«How can you be sure?» Kessler asked.
«At first I merely sensed it; then I knew. He asked about Hans and accepted your answer that he was still in München. He knows that’s not true. A clerk at the d’Accord offered to ring Hans’s room for him last night.»
«Oh, my God…»
«Don’t be upset. Our American colleague will die on the road to Zurich.»
46
The attempt on Noel’s life—if it was going to be made—would take place on the roads north of Fribourg, south of Köniz. That was the judgment of Yakov Ben-Gadíz. The distance was something more than twenty kilometers, with stretches in the hills that rarely had traffic this time of year. It was winter, and although the climate was not Alpine, light snows were frequent, the roads not the best; drivers were discouraged from them. But Holcroft had mapped out a route that avoided the highways, concentrating on rural towns with architecture he claimed he wanted to see.
That was to say, Yakov mapped it out, and Noel had delivered it to police who were under orders from the first deputy to act as his escort north. The fact that no one discouraged Holcroft from this chosen route lent substance to the Israeli’s judgment.
Yakov further speculated on the method of killing. Neither Von Tiebolt nor Kessler would be near the area. Each would be very much in evidence somewhere else. And if there was to be an execution, it would be carried out by as few men as possible—paid killers in no way associated with Wolfsschanze. No chances would be taken so soon after the meeting at La Grande Banque Genève. The killer, or killers, would in turn be murdered by Sonnenkinder; all traces to Wolfsschanze would be obliterated.
That was the strategy as Ben-Gadíz saw it, and a counterstrategy had to be mounted. One that got Noel to Zurich; that was all that mattered. Once in Zurich, it would be their strategy. There were a dozen ways to kill in a large city, and Yakov was an expert in all of them.
The trip began, the counterstrategy put into play. Holcroft drove a heavy car rented from Bonfils, Geneva, the most expensive leasing firm in Switzerland, specializing in the unusual automobile for the unusual client. It was a Rolls-Royce, outfitted with armor plate, bulletproof glass, and tires that could withstand successive punctures.
Helden was a mile in front of Noel, driving a nondescript but maneuverable Renault; Ben-Gadíz was behind, never more than half a mile, and his car was a Maserati, common among the wealthy of Geneva and capable of very high speeds. Between Yakov and Holcroft was the two-man police car assigned to the American as protection. The police knew nothing.
«They’ll be immobilized en route,» the Israeli had said while the three of them studied maps in Noel’s hotel room. «They won’t be sacrificed; there’d be too many questions. They’re legitimate police. I got the numbers off their helmets and called Litvak. We checked. They’re first-year men from the central headquarters’ barracks. As such, not very experienced.»
«Will they be the same men tomorrow?»
«Yes. Their orders read that they’re to stay with you until the Zurich police take over. Which I think means that they’ll find themselves with a malfunctioning vehicle, call their superiors, and be told to return to Geneva. The order for your protection will evaporate.»
«Then they’re just window dressing.»
«Exactly. Actually, they’ll serve a purpose. As long as you can see them, you’re safe. No one will try anything.»
They were in sight now, thought Noel, glancing at the rearview mirror, applying the brakes of the Rolls-Royce for the long curving descent at the side of the hill. Far below, he could see Helden’s car come out of a turn. In two more minutes she would slow down and wait until they were in plain sight of each other before resuming speed; that, too, was part of the plan. She had done so three minutes ago. Every five minutes they were to be in eye contact. He wished he could speak with her. Just talk … simple talk, quiet talk … having nothing to do with death or the contemplation of death, or the strategies demanded to avoid it.
But that talk could only come after Zurich. There would be death in Zurich, but not like any death Holcroft had ever thought about. Because he would be the killer; no one else.
No one. He demanded the right. He would look into the eyes of Johann von Tiebolt and tell him he was about to die.
He was going too fast; his anger had caused him to press too hard on the accelerator. He slowed down; it was no time to do Von Tiebolt’s work for him. It had started to snow, and the downhill road was slippery.
Yakov cursed the light snowfall, not because it made the driving difficult but because it reduced visibility. They relied on sight; radio communication was out of the question, the signals too easily intercepted.
The Israeli’s hand touched several items on the seat beside him; similar items were in Holcroft’s Rolls. They were part of the counterstrategy—the most effective part.
Explosives. Eight in all. Four charges, wrapped in plastic, timed to detonate precisely three seconds after impact; and four antitank grenades. In addition there were two weapons: a U.S. Army Colt automatic and a carbine rifle, each loaded, safeties off, prepared for firing. All had been purchased through Litvak’s contacts in Geneva. Peaceful Geneva, where such arsenals were available in quantities smaller than terrorists believed but greater than the Swiss authorities thought conceivable.