Pleading without shame, Elizabeth Scarlatti touched his arm. He withdrew it swiftly from her. “It’s not my threat. Please, in the name of God, listen to me. Try to understand.… I’m helpless. And I can not be helped!”
The field accountant saw the tears roll down her wrinkled cheeks. Her skin was white and the hollows of her eyes were black with exhaustion. He thought, quite out of context with the moment, that he was looking at a tear-stained corpse. His anger ebbed.
“Nobody has to be helpless. Don’t let anybody tell you that.”
“You love her, don’t you?”
“Yes. And because I do, you don’t have to be quite so afraid. I’m a committed public servant. But far more committed to us than the public.”
“Your confidence doesn’t change the situation.”
“You won’t know that until you tell me what it is.”
“You leave me no choice? No alternative?”
“None.”
“Then God have mercy on you. You have an awesome responsibility. You are responsible for our lives.”
She told him.
And Matthew Canfield knew exactly what he would do. It was time to confront the Marquis de Bertholde.
CHAPTER 31
Fifty-seven miles southeast of London is the seaside resort of Ramsgate. Near the town, on a field set back from the main road, stood a wooden shack no more than twenty feet by twenty. It had two small windows and in the early-morning mist a dim light could be seen shining through them. About a hundred yards to the north was a larger building—once a barn—five times the size of the shack. It was now a hangar for two small monoplanes. One of them was being wheeled out by three men in gray overalls.
Inside the shack, the man with the shaved head sat at a table drinking black coffee and munching bread. The reddish splotch above his right eye was sore and inflamed and he touched it continually.
He read the message in front of him and looked up at the bearer, a man in a chauffeur’s uniform. The contents of the message infuriated him.
“The marquis has gone too far. The instructions from Munich were clear. The Rawlinses were not to be killed in the States. They were to be brought to Zurich! They were to be killed in Zurich!”
“There’s no need for concern. Their deaths, the man and his wife, were engineered above suspicion. The marquis wanted you to know that. It has appeared as an accident.”
“To whom? God damn it, to whom? Go shag, all of you! Munich doesn’t want risks! In Zurich there would have been no risk!” Ulster Scarlett rose from the chair and walked to the small window overlooking the field. His plane was nearly ready. He hoped his fury would subside before takeoff. He disliked flying when he was angry. He made mistakes in the air when he was angry. It had been happening more frequently as the pressures mounted.
God damn Bertholde! Certainly Rawlins had to be killed. In his panic over Cartwright’s discovery Rawlins had ordered his son-in-law to kill Elizabeth Scarlatti. A massive error! It’s funny, he reflected. He no longer thought of the old woman as his mother. Simply Elizabeth Scarlatti.… But to have Rawlins murdered three thousand miles away was insanity! How could they know who was asking questions? And how easily might the order be traced back to Bertholde?
“Regardless of what happened …” Labishe started to speak.
“What?” Scarlett turned from the window. He had made up his mind.
“The marquis also wanted you to know that regardless of what happened to Boothroyd, all associations with him are buried with the Rawlinses.”
“Not quite, Labishe. Not quite.” Scarlett spoke softly but his voice was hard. “The Marquis de Bertholde was ordered … commanded by Munich to have the Rawlinses brought to Switzerland. He disobeyed. That was most unfortunate.”
“Pardon, monsieur?”
Scarlett reached for his flying jacket, which hung over the back of his chair. Again he spoke quietly, simply. Two words.
“Kill him.”
“Monsieur!”
“Kill him! Kill the Marquis de Bertholde and do it today!”
“Monsieur! I do not believe what I hear!”
“Listen to me! I don’t give explanations! By the time I reach Munich I want a cable waiting for me telling me that stupid son of a bitch is dead!… And, Labishe! Do it so there’s no mistake who killed him. You! We can’t have any investigations now!… Get back here to the field. We’ll fly you out of the country.”
“Monsieur! I have been with le marquis for fifteen years! He has been good to me!… I can not …”
“You what?”
“Monsieur …” The Frenchman sunk to one knee. “Do not ask me.…”