Sigma could possibly reach these people. Otherwise they would have been
dead already”
“Because …” Anna began slowly. “Because all of the victims were
angeli re belli The apostates, the dissidents. People who could no
longer be trusted.”
“And Chardin told us that Sigma was approaching a delicate transitional
phase a time of maximum vulnerability. It needed these people
eliminated. But you could find somebody like Rossignol precisely
because you were who you said you were. You really were trying to save
his life. And your bona fides could be verified in meticulous detail.
Yet you had been unknowingly programmed!”
“Which is why Bartlett gave me the assignment in the first place,” Anna
said, her voice growing steadily louder, a realization dawning. “So
that I would locate the remaining angeli re belli She banged a hand on
the dashboard.
“Whom Bartlett would then arrange to have killed. Because Bartlett is
working for Sigma.” He hated himself for the pain that his words had to
be causing her, but everything was now coming into sharp focus.
“And in effect so was I. Goddamn it to hell! So was I.”
“Unwittingly,” Ben emphasized. “As a pawn. And when you were becoming
too hard to control, he tried to pull you off the case. They’d already
found Rossignol, they didn’t need you anymore.”
“Christ!” Anna said.
“Of course, it’s no more than a theory,” Ben said, though he felt
certain he was speaking the truth.
“A theory, yes. But it makes too much damned sense.”
Ben didn’t reply. The demand that reality make sense seemed now an
outlandish luxury. Chardin’s words filled his mind, their meaning as
hideous as the face of the man who spoke them. Wheels within wheels
that was the way we worked… organs of Sigma, which remained
invisible… Every detail had been outlined by us… long before… it
never crossed anyone’s mind that the West had fallen under the
administration of a hidden
consortium. The notion would be inconceivable. Because if true, it
would mean that over half the planet was effectively a subsidiary of a
single me ga corporation Sigma.
Another ten minutes of silence elapsed before Ben said flatly, “We’ve
got to work out an itinerary.”
Anna studied the article in the Herald Tribune again. ” “The suspect is
believed to have used the names Robert Simon and John Freedman in his
travels.” So those IDs are blown.”
How? Ben recalled Liesl’s explanation of how the credit accounts were
kept current, how Peter had made the arrangements through her impeccably
trustworthy second cousin. “Deschner,” Ben said tightly. “They must
have gotten to him.” After a moment, he added, “I wonder why they
didn’t release my real name. They’ve supplied aliases, but not the name
“Benjamin Hartman.” ”
“No, it’s the smart thing to do. Look, they knew you weren’t traveling
under your real name. Bringing your true identity into it might have
muddied the waters. You’d get your Deerfield English teacher opining
that the Benny she knew would never do such a thing. Plus the Swiss
have gunshot residue analysis that puts you in the clear–but it’s all
filed under Benjamin Hartman. If you’re running a dragnet, it makes
sense to keep it simple.”
Near the town of Croisilles, they saw a sign for a motel and pulled into
a modern low-slung concrete building, a style Ben thought of as
International Ugly.
“Just one night,” Ben said, and counted out several hundred francs.
“Passport?” the stone-faced clerk asked.
“They’re in our bags,” Ben said apologetically. “I’ll bring them down
to you later.”
“Just one night?”
“If that,” Ben said, giving Anna a theatrically lascivious look. “We’ve
been touring France on our honeymoon.”
Anna stepped over and put her head on Ben’s shoulder. “This is such a
beautiful country,” she told the clerk. “And so sophisticated. I can’t
get over it.”
“Your honeymoon,” the clerk repeated, and, for the first time, smiled.
“If you don’t mind, we’re in a hurry,” Ben said. “We’ve been driving
for hours. We need a rest.” He winked.
The clerk handed him a key attached to a heavy rubberized weight.
“Just at the end of the hall. Room 125. You need anything, just call.”
The room was sparsely furnished; the floor was covered with dull,
mottled green carpeting and the brashly cherry-scented air freshener did
not conceal the faint, unmistakable smell of mildew.
Once the door closed behind them, they emptied the plastic bag Oscar had
given them on the bed, along with their other recent purchases. Anna
picked up an EU passport. The photograph was of her, although digitally
altered in various ways. Anna said her newly assigned name aloud a few
times, trying to get accustomed to the unfamiliar sounds.
“I still don’t see how this is going to work,” Ben said.
“Like your Oscar said, they categorize you before they really look at
you. It’s called profiling. If you don’t belong to the suspect genus,
you get a free pass.” Anna took out a tube of lipstick and, looking
into a mirror, applied it carefully. She wiped it off a few times
before she was confident that she had done it correctly.
By then, Ben was already in the bathroom, his hair slick with syrupy,
foamy hair dye, which gave off a tarry, ammoniac smell. The
instructions said to wait twenty minutes before rinsing. It also
cautioned against dyeing eyebrows, at the risk of blindness. Ben
decided to take that risk. With a cotton swab, he applied the thick
fluid to his brows, pressing a wad of tissue paper against his eyes to
prevent it from dripping down.
The twenty minutes felt like two hours. Finally, he stepped into the
shower, blasted himself with water, and opened his eyes only when he was
certain the peroxide had all been washed down the drain.
He stepped out of the shower and looked at himself in the mirror. He
was a plausible blond.
“Say hello to David Paine,” he said to Anna.
She shook her head. “The hair’s too long.” She held up the multi-cut
electric clippers, chrome-clad except for the clear rubberized grip.
“That’s what this baby is for.”
In another ten minutes, his curls were flushed away, and he was ready to
put on the neatly creased U.S. Army fatigues that Oscar Peyaud had
provided him. Blond, crew cut, he looked like an officer, consistent
with the insignia, patches, and overseas service bars on his green
uniform coat. U.S. Army officers wore identifying badges when traveling
by air, he knew. It wasn’t an inconspicuous way to travel; but being
conspicuous in the right way could amount to a life-saving distraction.
“Better make tracks,” Anna said. “The faster we can get out of this
country, the safer we’ll be. Time’s on their side, not ours.”
Carrying their belongings with them, the two walked to the end of the
hall and stepped out into the parking lot.
They tossed Anna’s garment bag in the backseat of the blue Renault,
along with the white plastic sack that Oscar had given them. It
contained the spent bottle of hair dye, and a few other pieces of
garbage they didn’t want to leave behind. At this point, the smallest
detail could give them away.
“As I said, we’re down to our last card, our last play,” Anna said, as
they made their way back on the highway heading north. “Strasser was a
founder. We’ve got to find him.”
“If he’s still alive.”
“Was there any indication either way in Sonnenfeld’s file?”
“I reread it this morning,” Ben said. “No, to be honest. And Son
nenfeld thought it was entirely possible that Strasser died, maybe even
years ago.”
“Or maybe not.”
“Maybe not. You’re an incurable optimist. But what makes you think
we’re not going to get arrested in Buenos Aires?”
“Hell, like you’ve said, there were notorious Nazis living there openly
for decades. The local police are going to be the least of our
troubles.”
“What about Interpol?”
“That’s what I was thinking–they might be able to help us locate
Strasser.”
“Are you crazy? Talk about going into the lion’s den. They’re going to
have your name on some watch list, aren’t they?”
“You obviously don’t know anything about the way the Interpol office is
run down there. Nobody checks IDs. You are who you claim you are. Not
the most sophisticated operation, let’s just say. You got a better
idea?”
“Sonnenfeld said Gerhard Lenz’s widow may be alive,” Ben said
broodingly. “Wouldn’t she be in a position to know?”
“Anything’s possible.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” Ben said. “You really think we’ve got a
shot at getting out of this country undetected?”
“There aren’t going to be any transatlantic flights at this airport. But
we can get to some of the European capitals. I suggest that we both
travel separately. There’s a decent chance they’re looking for a man
and a woman traveling together.”
“Of course,” he said. “I’ll go via Madrid; you take Amsterdam.”