possible,. for Kroeger was no German. But could he get Rheinh to use the
name, just the name, once more without the slightest betrayal of concern.
“Strasser, perhaps. Hes strong, attractive. Ludendorff naturally has the
aura, of national fame, but he’s too old now But mark me, Poole, watch this
Hitlerl Have you read the transcripts of the Munich trialrl
“No. Should 1?”
“Yesl He’s electricl Positively eloquentl And sound.”
“He has a lot of enemies. I He’s banned from speaking in almost every
gratshatt in Germany.”
‘The necessary excesses in a march to power. The bans on him are being
removed. Were seeing to that”
Poole now watched Rheinhart carefully as he spoke,
“Hitlees a friend of Kroeger, isn’t he?”
“Achl Wouldn’t you be? Kroeger has millionsl It is through Kroeger that
Hitler gets his automobiles, his chauffeur, the castle at Berchtesgaden,
God knows what else. You don’t think he buys them with his royalties, do
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you? Most amusing. Last year Heft Hitler declared an income which could not
possibly purchase two tires for his Niercedes.” Rheinhart laughed. “We
managed to have the inquiry suspended in Munich, fortunately. Ja, Kroeger is
good to Hitler.
Poole was now absolutely sure. The men in Zurich did not know who Heinrich
Kroeger wasl
“Erich, I must go. Can you have your man drive me back to Washington?”
“But of course, my dear fellow.”
Poole opened the door of his room at the Ambassador Hotel. Upon hearing the
sound of the key, the man inside stood up, practically at attention.
“Oh, it’s you, Bush.”
“Cable from London, Mr. Poole. I thought it best that I take the train down
rather than using the telephone.” He handed Poole the cable.
Poole opened the envelope and extracted the message. He read it
DUCHESS HAS LEFT LONDON STOP DESTINATION ASCERTAINED GENEVA STOP RUMORS OF
ZURICH CONFERENCE STOP CABLE INSTRUCTIONS PARIS OFFICE
Poole pinched his aristocratic lips together, nearly biting into his own
flesh in an attempt to suppress his anger.
“Duchess” was the code name of Elizabeth Scarlatti. So she headed for
Geneva. A hundred and ten miles from Zurich. This was no pleasure trip. It
was not another leg on her journey of mourning.
Whatever Jacques Bertholde had feared-plot or counterplot-it was happening
now. Elizabeth Scarlatti and her son “Heinrich Kroegee, were making their
moves. Separately or together, who could know.
Poole made his decision.
“Send the following to the Paris office. Tliminate Duchess from the market.
Her bid is to be taken off our lists at once. Repeat, eliminate Duchess’.”
Poole dismissed the courier and went to the telephone. He had to make
reservations immediately. He had to get to Zurich.
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There’d be no conference. Hq’d stop it. He’d kill the mother, expose the
killer sonl Kroeger’s death would follow quickly!
It was the least he could do for Bertholde.
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PART THREE
CHAPTER 41
The tram clanged over the antiquated bridge sp – 9 the none River. into the
Geneva station. Elizabeth Scarlath sat in her compartment looking fnt down
at -the river barges, then at the rising banks and into the large railroad
yard. Geneva was clean. There was a scrubbed look about it, which helped -to
hide the fact that scores of nations and a thousand score of business giants
used this neutral city to further intensify confficting interestL As the
train neared the city, she thought that someone like herself belonged in
Geneva. Or, perhaps, Geneva belonged to someone like herself.
She eyed the luggage piled on the seat facing her. One sintcas& contairted
the clothes she needed, and three smaller bags were jamined with papers.
Papers that contained a thousand conclusions, totaling up to a battery of
weapons. The data included figures on the complete worth of every man in
the. Zurich gmup. Every resource
, each possessed. Additional infoirnaaon
awaited her in Geneva. But that was a different
sort of musketry. it was not unlike the
Domesday Book. For what awaited her in Gene. va
was the complete breakdown of the Scarlatti
interests. The legally assessed value of every
asset controlled by the Scarlatti Industries.
What made it deadly was her maneuVerability.
And opposite each block of wealth was a com-
nutinent to purchase These commitments were
spelled out, and they could be executed
irwantaneously by a cable to her attorneys.
And well they should be.
Each block was followed-not by the usual two col.
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unins designating assessed value and sales value-but three columns. This
third column was an across-the-board cut, which guaranteed the buyer a minor
fortune with each transaction. Each signified a mandate to purchase that
could not be refused. It was the highest level of finance, returned through
the complexities of banking to the fundamental basis of economic incentive.
Profit.
And Elizabeth counted on one last factor. It was the reverse of her
instructions but that, too, was calculated.
In her sealed orders sent across the Atlantic was the emphatic stipulation
that every contact, made–to complete the -task teams of administrators had
to work twelve-hour shifts night and day-was to be carried out in the
utmost secrecy and only with those whose authority extended to great
financial commitments. The guaranteed gains absolved all from charges of
irresponsibility. Each would emerge a hero to himself or to his economic
constituency. But the price was consummate security until the act was done.
The rewards matched the price. Millionaires, merchant princes, and bankers
in New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, and Palm Beach found themselves
quartered in conference rooms with their dignified counterparts from one of
New York’s most prestigious law firms. The tones were hushed and the looks
knowing. Financial killings were being made. Signatures were affixed.
And, of course, it had to happen.
Unbelievable good fortune leads to ebullience, and ebullience is no mate
for secrecy.
Two or three began to talk. Then four or five. Then a down. But no more
than that. . . The price.
Phone calls were made, almost none from offices, nearly all from the quiet
seclusion of libraries or dens. Most were made at night under the soft
light of desk lamps with good pre-Volstead whiskey an arm’s length away.
in the highest economic circles, there was a rumor that something most
unusual was happening at SCarlatti.
it was just enough. Elizabeth knew it would be just enough. After all, the
price…. And the rumors reached the men in Zurich.
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Matthew Canfield stretched out across the seats in his own compartment, his
legs propped over his single suitcase, his feet resting on the cushions
facing him. He, too, looked out the window at the approaching city of
Geneva. He had just finished one of his thin cigars and the smoke rested in
suspended layers above him. in the still air of the small room. He
contemplated opening a window, but he was too depressed to move.
It had been two weeks to the day since he had granted Elizabeth Scarlatti
her reprieve of one month. Fourteen days of chaos made painful by the
knowledge-of his own uselessness. More than uselessness, more akin to per-
sonal futility. He could do nothing, and nothing was expected of him.
Elizabeth hadift wanted him to “work closely” with her. She di4wt want
anyone to work with Ler–closely or otherwise. She soloed. She soared
alone, a crusty, patrician eagle sweeping the infinite meadows of her own
particular heaven.
His most demanding chore was the purcbase of office supplies such as reams
of paper, pencils, notebooks, and endless boxes of paper clips.
Even the. publisher Thomas Ogilvie had refused to see him, obviously so
instructed by Elizabeth.
Canfield had been dismissed as he was being dismissed by Elizabeth. Even
Janet treated him with a degree of aloofness, always apologizing for her
manner but by apologizing, acknowledging iiL He began to realize what had
happened. He was the whore now. He had sold himself,
rs taken and paid for. They had very little use his fave, for him now.
They knew he could be had again as one knows a whore can be had.
He understood so much more completely what Janet had felt.
Would it be finished with Janet? Could it ever be finished with her? He
told himself no. She told him the same. She asked him- to be strong enough
for both of them, but was she fooling herself and letting him pay for it?
He began to wonder if he was capable of judgment. He had been idle and the
rot inside of him frightened him. What had he done? Could -he undo it? He
was operating in a world he couldn’t come -to grips with.
Except Janet. She didn’t belong to that world either. She belonged to him.
She had tol
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The whistle on the train’s roof screeched twice and the huge
metal-against-metal slabs on the wheels began to grind. The train was
entering the Geneva station, and Canfield heard Elizabet&s rapid knocking
on the wall between their compartments. The knocking annoyed him. It