I turned and looked at Katerina, and I was thinking that the whole thing was just too fantastic for words.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE ASHES OF ATONEMENT
We went to the conference. I took Katerina with me along the ventilator passage to the large grille that looked down into the main hallway. She looked through and then turned back to say something to me. I put my hand gently over her mouth. Acoustics could be tricky right up under a dome. Crouched behind the grille Katerina and I could hear every word that was said without any difficulty.
The great door to the hall was shut and both guards were on duty, standing one each side of it, sub-machine guns cuddled across their arms, their black silk shirts fresh pressed and their boots shining ... stirring memories from old newsreels and documentaries.
Since I had last seen the place two rows of gilt chairs had been placed between the door and the marble platform. There was no sign of the catafalque. Under the cold blue light that drifted down from the heavy hanging silks of the dome a cold, unearthly atmosphere of fantasy seemed to possess the place.
Standing at the foot of the marble platform were Professor Vadarci and Alois Vadarci. The professor was dressed in an ordinary lounge suit, but Alois was in the same rig as the guards. Instead of a sub-machine gun for a weapon, I noticed, he had a dagger with an ornamental handle tucked into the top of his breeches. In his hand was the whip I had seen in Madame Vadarci’s room.
Sitting on the chairs were about ten men; with them was Madame Vadarci, swathed in black silk, gently pluming her fan in front of her face. They were mostly middle-aged, and a couple were well over sixty. The youngest one there, I guessed, was Manston. He sat at the end of a row, monocle screwed into one eye, one hand toying with its black silk cord, and wearing a well-cut suit of soft tweed. He was listening to what Alois was saying and nodding gently to himself in approval. I knew then that under the cover of being Sir Alfred Coddon, K.B.E., C.V.O. – who had certainly been put away for the time being in ice-cold iron-bound storage – he had worked his way into the centre of the web by a direct route. His only trouble would be that, although he sat now in the centre, he would not know its location on the map. The Vadarcis and their helicopter made that security tight. Next to Manston sat the white-haired old boy with the tin leg whom I had seen at the Chalet Papagei. He had his thick walking-stick between his legs and was leaning forward, resting his chin on it, his eyes never leaving Alois. Malacod had had the same idea as Sutcliffe – a personal representative straight to the unknown centre.
As for the rest of the bunch, they all looked prosperous, hard-bitten types who had long ago worked things out and knew just how to handle the delicate and complicated business of getting the most out of life for themselves. You could tell it from their good clothes, the silk shirts, the polish on their hand-welted shoes ... from the way they sat, almost from the way they breathed. They understood about men and employing them, about deals and swinging them, about compromises, and profits ... about nice, clean commercial murders, and the way to push them out of mind and conscience when they went back to the bosom of their families. I didn’t have a moment’s thought that they might be here simply because they enjoyed playing at secret societies or being members of archaic guilds with elaborate rituals. They were here on business. They were the kind of men who often employed me.
I put out my hand and held Katerina’s. It was good to have her beside me. It was going to be good to take her out of this fantasy and keep her by me for good ... or, at least, for as long as I could.
Alois was speaking in English but after each few sentences he would stop and then translate his words into German, pause, and then give it all again in French.
Alois was saying—
“Until now, all of you – and scores of others who are not here tonight – have been approached individually. All of you are trusted and influential members of our party. Not from Germany alone – but from other countries where, when the moment of trial comes, your support will be invaluable. You are men, too, who, in the past, when you have seen change coming, have known how to accommodate yourselves and your interests to the change....” He paused, went into his translation act, and then went on: “At some stages of a party’s development it is wiser to talk obliquely, leaving wise men to read between the lines. But tonight a direct statement is going to be made.”
He had a good strong voice, spoke well, and standing there, blond hair shining, a blue sheen running like liquid metal over his black shirt, he was a commanding figure.
“The Sühne Partei at the moment – and I admit it frankly – is nothing. It is a wishy-washy organization for doing good. The world is crammed with similar organizations. But ours has one difference. The day is coming when it will be given its true birth, its true strength, which will make it a power in Europe, and in the rest of the world. No great party can run on logic alone. It must have a great dream behind it, a splendid promise ahead of it, and a soul, and a legend to defend.”
He was a great talker, and he had them hanging on every word.
“You are all men of different countries, men of influence in commerce, industry, the law. Let us be
