but…” She looked up. “What did you hope to learn from Rossignol?”
What was she getting at? “I thought he might know why my brother was
killed, and who did it.”
“But he was himself killed before you got to him.”
“So it seems.”
“Did you look into this Sigma company, try to locate it, trace its
history?”
Ben nodded. “But I turned up nothing. Then again, maybe it never
existed, if you know what I mean.” Seeing her frown, he went on. “A
notional entity, like a shell company.”
“What kind of shell company?”
Ben shook his head. “I don’t know. Something involving American
military intelligence, maybe.” He told her of Lenz’s worries.
“I don’t think I buy it.”
“Why not?”
“I work for the government, don’t forget. The bureaucracy leaks like a
sieve. They’d never be able to coordinate a series of murders without
the world finding out.”
“Then what do you figure the link is? Apart from the obvious, I mean.”
“I’m not sure how much I can tell you.”
“Look,” Ben said fiercely, “if we’re going to share information if we’re
going to help each other you can’t hold back. You have to trust me.”
She nodded, then seemed to come to a decision. “For one thing, they
aren’t, or weren’t, janitors, believe me, none of them. They all had
great, visible wealth, or most of them, anyway. The only one who lived
modestly, at least that I saw, still had tons of money in the bank.” She
told him about her investigation in general terms.
“You said one of them worked for Charles Highsmith, right? So it’s as
if you’ve got your titans here, and then the guys who work for them,
their trusted lieutenants and whatnot. And back in 1945 or so, Alien
Dulles is running clearances on them, because they’re all playing
together, and Dulles doesn’t like to be surprised by his playmates.”
“Which still leaves the larger question unanswered. What’s the game?
Why was Sigma formed in the first place? For what?”
“Maybe the explanation is simple,” Ben said. “Bunch of moguls got
together in 1944, ’45, to siphon off a huge amount of money from the
Third Reich. They divided up the spoils and got even richer. The way
guys like that think, they probably told themselves they were reclaiming
what was properly theirs.”
She seemed perplexed. “O.K.” but here’s what doesn’t fit. You’ve got
people who, right up until their deaths just days ago, were receiving
regular, large payments. Wire transfers into their bank accounts, in
amounts ranging from a quarter-million to a half-million bucks.”
“Wired from where?”
“Laundered. We don’t know where the money originated; we only know the
very last links in the chains places like the Cayman Islands, Turks and
Caicos.”
“Haven countries,” Ben said.
“Exactly. Beyond that, it’s impossible to get any information.”
“Not necessarily,” Ben said. “Depends on who you know. And whether
you’re willing to bend the law a little. Grease some palms.”
“We don’t bend the law.” Agent Navarro said this with an almost haughty
pride.
“That’s why you don’t know shit about where the money came from.”
She looked startled, as if he’d slapped her face. Then she laughed.
“What do you know about laundering money?”
“I don’t do it myself, if that’s what you’re thinking, but my company
does have an offshore division that manages funds to avoid taxes,
government regulations, all that good stuff. Also, I’ve had clients who
are very good at hiding their assets from people like you. I know
people who can get information out of offshore banks. They specialize
in it. Charge a fortune. They can dig up financial information
anywhere in the world, all through their personal contacts, knowing who
to pay off.”
After a few seconds, she said, “How would you feel about working with me
on this? Informally, of course.”
Surprised, Ben asked, “What does that mean, exactly?”
“Share information. We have an overlap of motivations. You want to
know who killed your brother and why. I want to know who’s been killing
the old men.”
Is she on the level? he wondered. Was this some kind of trick? What
did she really want?
“You think the murderers are one and the same? My brother and these men
on that list of yours?”
“I’m convinced of it now. All part of the same pattern, the same
mosaic.”
“What’s in it for me?” He looked at her boldly but softened it with a
grin.
“Nothing official, let me tell you that right up front. Maybe a little
protection. Put it this way they’ve already tried to kill you more than
once. How long is your luck going to hold?”
“And if I stick close to you, I’m safe?”
“Safer, maybe. You got a better idea? You did come to my hotel, after
all. Anyway, the cops took your gun, right?”
True. “I’m sure you understand my reluctance after all, until very
recently you wanted me in prison.”
“Look, feel free to go back to your hotel. Have a good night’s sleep.”
“Point taken. You’re making a generous offer. Maybe one I’d be foolish
to turn down. I I don’t know.”
“Well, sleep on it.”
“Speaking of sleep ”
Her eyes searched the room. “I ”
“I’ll call down to the front desk and get myself a room.”
“I doubt you’ll get one. There’s some conference here, and they’re
booked to capacity. I got one of the last rooms available. Why don’t
you sleep on the couch?”
He gave her a quick look. Did the uptight Special Agent Navarro just
invite him to spend the night in her room? No. He was deluding
himself. Her body language, the unspoken signals, made it clear: she’d
invited him here to hide out, not to slip into her bed.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Just one thing: the couch is a little small, maybe a bit too short.”
“I’ve slept on worse, believe me.”
She got up, went to a closet, and found a blanket, handed it to him. “I
can ask room service to bring up a toothbrush. In the morning we’re
going to have to retrieve your clothes, your luggage, from your hotel.”
“I don’t plan to go back.”
“Definitely not a good idea. I’ll make arrangements.” She seemed to
realize that she was standing a little too close, and she took a step
backward, the gesture awkward. “Well, I’m going to turn in,” she said.
He thought of something suddenly, an idea that had been teasing at the
back of his mind since leaving Lenz’s villa. “The old Nazi hunter Jakob
Sonnenfeld lives in this town, doesn’t he?”
She turned toward him. “That sounds right.”
“I read somewhere recently he may be ancient but he’s as sharp as ever.
Plus, he’s supposed to have extensive files. I wonder…”
“You think he’ll see you?”
“I think it’s worth a try.”
“Well, be careful if you do go. Take some security precautions. Don’t
let anyone follow you there. For his sake.”
“Hey, I’ll take any advice on that you want to give me.”
While she got ready for bed, he called Bedford on his digital phone.
Mrs. Walsh answered. She sounded agitated. “No, Benjamin, I haven’t
heard a word. Not a word! He seems to have vanished without a trace.
I’ve well, I’ve brought the police in on this. I’m at my wits’ end!”
Ben felt a dull headache starting: the tension, which for a while had
abated, had returned. Rattled, he mumbled a few empty words of
reassurance, disconnected the call, took off his jacket, and hung it on
the back of the desk chair. Then, still dressed in his slacks and
shirt, he settled onto the sofa and pulled the blanket over him.
What did this mean, his father’s disappearing without leaving a word? He
had voluntarily gotten into a limousine; it wasn’t a kidnapping.
Presumably he knew where he was going.
Which was where?
He struggled to get comfortable on the couch, but Navarro was right, it
was just an inch or two too short for comfort. He saw her sitting up in
bed reading a file by the light of the bed lamp. Her soft brown eyes
were caught by the pool of light.
“Was that about your father?” she asked. “I’m sorry, I know I
shouldn’t have been eavesdropping, but–”
“It’s O.K. Yeah, my father vanished a few days ago. Got in a limousine
to the airport and was never heard from again.”
She put down the file, sat up straight. “That’s a possible kidnapping.
Which makes it federal business.”
He swallowed, his mouth dry. Could he really have been abducted?
“Tell me what you know,” she said.
The phone jangled some hours later, awakening them both.
Anna picked it up. “Yes?”
“Anna Navarro?”
“Yes, who’s this?”
“Anna, I’m Phil Ostrow, from the American embassy here. I hope I’m not
calling you too late.” A flat Midwestern American accent with Chicagoan
vowels.
“I had to get up to answer the phone anyway,” she said dryly. “What can