The attackers fled.
Helden had slowed the car well over a minute ago. Noel should have been in sight by now. Where was he? She stopped at the side of the road and waited. Another two minutes went by; she could not wait any longer.
She swung the car into a U-turn and started back up the hill. Pushing the accelerator to the floor, she passed the half-mile mark; still there was no sign of him. Her hands began to tremble.
Something had happened. She knew it; she could feel it!
She saw the Maserati! It was demolished! On fire!
Oh, God!
Where was Noel’s car? Where was Noel? Yakov?
She slammed on the brakes and ran out, screaming. She fell on the slippery road, unaware that her own wounded leg had caused the fall, and pushed herself up, and screamed again, and ran again.
«Noel! Noel!»
Tears streaked down her face in the cold air; her screams tore the raw nerves of her throat. She could not cope with her own hysteria.
She heard the command out of nowhere.
«Helden! Stop it. Here…»
A voice. Yakov’s voice! From where? Where was it coming from? She heard it again.
«Helden! Down here!»
The embankment. She raced to the embankment and her world collapsed. Below was the Rolls-Royce—overturned and smoking, crushed metal everywhere. In horror she saw the figure of Yakov Ben-Gadíz on the ground next to the Rolls. And then she saw the streaks of red on the snow that formed a path across the road and down the embankment to where Yakov lay.
Helden lunged over the embankment, rolling in the snow and over the rocks, screaming at the death she knew awaited her. She fell by Ben-Gadíz and stared through the open window at her love. He was sprawled out, immobile, his face drenched with blood.
«No!… No!»
Yakov grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. He could barely speak, but his commands were clear. «Get back to your car. There’s a small village south of Treyvaux, no more than five kilometers from here. Call Litvak. Près-du-Lac’s not so far away … twenty, twenty-two kilometers. He can hire pilots, fast cars. Reach him; tell him.»
Helden could not take her eyes off Noel. «He’s dead… He’s dead!»
«He may not be. Hurry!»
«I can’t. I can’t leave him!»
Ben-Gadíz raised his pistol. «Unless you do, I’ll kill him now.»
Litvak walked into the room where Ben-Gadíz lay on the bed, his lower body encased in bandages. Yakov was staring out the window at the snow-covered fields and the mountains beyond; he continued to stare, taking no notice of the doctor’s entrance.
«Do you want the truth?»
The Israeli turned his head slowly. «There’s no point in avoiding it, is there? At any rate, I can see it in your face.»
«I could bring you worse news. You’ll not walk very well ever again; the damage is too extensive. But, in time, you’ll get around. At first with the help of crutches; later, perhaps, with a cane.»
«Not exactly the physical prognosis needed for my work, is it?»
«No, but your mind’s intact and your hands will heal. It won’t affect your music.»
Yakov smiled sadly. «I was never that good. My mind wandered too frequently. I was not as fine a professional as I was in my other life.»
«That mind can be put to other uses.»
The Israeli frowned, looking again out the window. «We’ll see when we know what’s left out there.»
«It’s changing out there, Yakov. It’s happening quickly,» said the doctor.
«What about Holcroft?»
«I don’t know what to say. He should have died. But he’s still alive. Not that it makes much difference in terms of his life. He can’t go back to who he was. He’s wanted in half a dozen countries for murder. The death penalty’s been restored everywhere, for all manner of crimes, the laws of defense a travesty. Everywhere. He’d be shot on sight.»
«They’ve won,» said Yakov, his eyes filling with tears. «The Sonnenkinder have won.»
«We’ll see,» said Litvak, «when we know what’s left out there.»
Epilogue
Images. Shapeless, unfocused, without meaning or definition. Outlines etched in vapor. There was only awareness. Not thought, nor any memory of experience, just awareness. Then the shapeless images began to take form; the mists cleared, turning awareness into recognition. Thought would come later; it was enough to be able to see and to remember.
Noel saw her face above him, framed by the cascading blond hair that touched his face. There were tears in her eyes; they ran down her cheeks. He tried to wipe away the tears, but he could not reach the lovely, tired face above. His hand fell, and she took it in hers.
«My darling…»
He heard her. He was able to hear. Sight and sound had meaning. He closed his eyes, knowing that somehow thought would come soon, too.
Litvak stood in the doorway, watching Helden sponge Noel’s chest and neck. There was a newspaper under his arm. He examined Holcroft’s face, the face that had taken such punishment from the fusillade of bullets. There were scars on his left cheek and across his forehead and all over his neck. But the healing process had begun. From somewhere inside the house came the sounds of a violin being played by a very professional musician.
«I’d like to recommend a raise for your nurse,» said Noel weakly.
«For which duties?» Litvak laughed.
«Physician, heal thyself.» Helden joined the laughter.
«I wish I could. I wish I could heal a lot of things,» replied the doctor, dropping the newspaper at Holcroft’s side. It was the Paris edition of the Herald Tribune. «I picked this up for you in Neuchâtel. I’m not sure you want to read it.»
«What’s the lesson for today?»
«‘The Consequences of Dissent’ would be a fair title, I imagine. The editorial staff of the New York Times have been enjoined by your Supreme Court from any further coverage of the Pentagon. The issue, of course, is national security. Said Supreme Court also upheld the legality of the multiple executions in your state of Michigan. The Court’s opinion expresses the profound thought that when minorities threaten the well-being of the general public, swift and visible examples are to be made in the cause of deterrence.»
«Today John Smith is a minority,» said Noel weakly, his head resting back on the pillow. «Boom, he’s dead.»
This is the world news, reported by BBC of London. Since the wave of assassinations that took the lives of political figures across the globe, security measures of unparalleled severity have been mounted in the nations’ capitals. It is to the military and police authorities everywhere that the greatest responsibility falls, and so that international cooperation at the highest levels may be achieved, an agency has been formed in Zurich, Switzerland. This agency, to be called Anvil, will facilitate the swift, accurate, and confidential exchange of information between member military and police forces…
Yakov Ben-Gadíz was halfway through the scherzo of Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto when he found his mind wandering again. Noel Holcroft was stretched out on the couch across the room, Helden sitting on the floor beside him.
The plastic surgeon who had flown from Los Angeles to operate on his unidentified patient had done a remarkable job. The face was still Holcroft’s, yet not entirely. The scars that had resulted from the facial wounds were gone, in their place slight indentations that lent a chiseled look to the features. The lines on his forehead were deeper, the wrinkles about his eyes more pronounced. There was no innocence in the slightly altered, restored face; instead there was a touch of cruelty. Perhaps more than a touch.