They crossed to the stairs and went up. As he had indicated, this was another dining deck, but the sides were open and rain was blowing in. The crew had stacked the chairs in the center and the rain increased in force and mist drifted across the river.
There were other boats, of course, barges tied together in lines of three, and another restaurant boat passing in the opposite direction.
“It’s quite something,” Blake said.
Dillon nodded. “A great, great city.”
“So where is he?”
“Let’s try the stern promenade.”
It was reached by a door with a glass panel in it. Outside were three or four tables under an awning. Rocard was sitting at one of them, the glass of wine in front of him.
“Best get on with it,” Blake said.
Dillon nodded and opened the door and led the way through. “A wet evening, Monsieur Rocard,” he said.
Rocard looked up. “You have the advantage of me, Monsieur…?”
“Dillon – Sean Dillon, he who was supposed to be dead in Washington, but it’s the third day, and you know what that means.”
“My God!” Rocard said.
“This, by the way, is a gentleman named Blake Johnson, here on behalf of the President of the United States, who is rather understandably desperate for news of his daughter.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rocard tried to stand and Dillon shoved him down and took out his Walther. “Silenced, so if I want to, I can kill you without a sound and put you over the rail.”
“What do you want?” Rocard looked sick.
“Oh, conversation, cabbages, and kings, Judas Maccabeus, poor old Paul Berger, but most of all Marie de Brissac. Now where is she?”
“Before God, I don’t know,” Michael Rocard said.
THIRTEEN
The boat moved forward into the mist. Blake said, “I find that difficult to believe.”
“It’s true.”
“Look, the game’s up,” Dillon told him. “We know about Judas and his Maccabees. You wouldn’t deny you’re one of them?”
“That’s true, but I’ve never met Judas personally.”
“Then how were you recruited?”
Rocard thought for a long moment, then shrugged, resigned. “All right, I’ll tell you. I’m sick of the whole thing, anyway. It’s gone too far. I was at a reunion of survivors of the Auschwitz concentration camp. I was at Auschwitz as a boy with my family. Those Vichy swine handed us over to the Nazis. It’s where I met my wife.”
“So?” Blake said.
“We all stood up and made testament about what had happened to us. I had a mother, a father, and a sister. We were sent to Auschwitz Two, the extermination center at Birkenau. A million Jews died there. Can you gentlemen conceive of that? One million? I was the only member of my family to survive because a homosexual SS guard took a fancy to me and had me transferred to Auschwitz Three to work in the I. G. Farben plant.”
“I know about that place,” Blake Johnson said.
“The girl who became my wife, and her mother, were transferred by the same man as a favor.” His face was full of pain. “We survived, returned to France, and picked up the threads of our lives. I became a lawyer, her mother died, we married.” He shrugged. “She was never well, always ailing, she died years ago.”
“So where did Judas come into it?”
“I was approached by a man at the Auschwitz reunion and offered the chance to help to secure the future of Israel. I couldn’t resist. It seemed” – he spread his hands in a very French gesture – “so worthwhile.”
“And you served the de Brissac family?” Dillon said.
“I was their lawyer for years.”
“And betrayed the fact that Marie’s father was really the American President to Judas?” Blake accused.
“I didn’t mean it to turn out as it has. Before he died, the general signed a deed acknowledging that he was Marie’s titular father under the Code Napoléon to ensure she inherited the title. When I asked for an explanation, he refused.”
“So how did you find out?” Dillon asked.
“In such an ordinary way. When the countess was dying of cancer, she was sitting with Marie on the patio one day enjoying the sun. I’d arrived with papers for the countess to sign. They didn’t hear my approach, but they were discussing the situation. I heard the countess say: ‘But what will your father think?’ but of course to me, her father was dead.”
“So you listened?” Blake said.
“Yes, and heard all I needed to know. The name of her real father.”
“And you told Judas.”
“Yes,” Rocard said reluctantly. “Look, I deal with many important people, politicians, high-ranking generals. One of my briefs is to keep Judas informed of anything interesting.”
“And you told him Marie de Brissac’s secret?” Blake said.
“I didn’t realize what he would do with the information, I swear it.”
“You poor fool,” Dillon said. “In over your head, and it all seemed so romantic. Berger was exactly the same.”
Rocard stiffened. “You knew Paul?” His eyes widened. “You killed him?”
Blake said, “Don’t be stupid, and pull yourself together. I’ll get you a cognac.”
He went inside. Rocard said, “What happened to Paul? Tell me.”
“We traced him and questioned him. He told us how you recruited him. I’d intended holding him in a safehouse until this thing was over, but he panicked, thought we meant him harm. He ran across the road and a bus hit him. That’s the truth.”
“Poor Paul.” Rocard’s eyes were moist. “We were…” He hesitated. “Friends.”
Blake returned with a large cognac. “Try that, it might help.”
“Thank you.”
“All right,” Dillon said. “So tell us how it happened to Marie. Come on, you’ve nothing to lose now.”
“Judas phoned and ordered me to buy a small cottage on the northeast coast of Corfu. I was to persuade Marie to holiday there.”
“Why Corfu?”
“I’ve no idea. It was easy to persuade her to go because, since her mother’s death, she’s filled her time by taking painting holidays all over the place.”
“Didn’t it occur to you that he would have a devious motive?” Blake asked.
“I’m used to obeying his orders, that’s the way he runs things. I didn’t think. The damage had been done.” He shook his head. “I just didn’t think. I’d no idea that what has happened would happen. I care for Marie, I always have since she was a child.”
“But you followed Judas blindly?” Blake said.
“Remember Auschwitz, Mr. Johnson. I’m a good Jew. I love my people, and Israel is our hope. I wanted to help, can’t you see that?”
And it was Dillon who put a hand on his shoulder. “I see. I can see perfectly.”
“Do you know what he intends to do with her?” Blake asked.
And Rocard didn’t, that became immediately plain. “Use her as some sort of bargaining counter, I suppose.”
“Actually, he’s going to execute her on Tuesday unless her father signs an executive order for an American military strike against Iraq, Iran, and Syria.”
Rocard was truly horrified, and seemed to age visibly. “What have I done? Marie, what have I done?” He got up and moved to the rail and looked up at the rain. “I didn’t mean any of this, as God is my judge.”
Dillon turned to Blake Johnson. “I believe the poor sod.”
He turned and Rocard had gone, vanished as if he had never been. He and Blake ran to the rail. Mist swirled across the river, it seemed as if an arm was raised, and then the mist rolled in again. Dillon straightened, hands braced against the rail.
“I’d say there’s just about so much pain a person can take.”
Blake turned to him and there was anguish in his face. “But we’ve failed, Sean, we’re no further forward. What are we going to do?”
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m going to go down to the bar to get myself a very large Irish whiskey. After that, it’s back to London to break the bad news to Ferguson.”