gone through a horrifying experience, so he decided not to mention Hannah until they reached the hotel. Let her calm down. And yet he wondered whether it was him or Elizabeth who needed the calm. His hands were still shaking. He looked over at Elizabeth. She continued to stare straight ahead, but she was not seeing anything anyone else would see.
'Are you all right?'
She did not answer him for nearly a minute.
'Mr. Canfield, you have a terrible responsibility facing you.'
'I'm not sure what you mean.'
She turned and looked at him. Gone was the grandeur, gone the haughty superiority.
'Don't let them kill me, Mr. Canfield. Don't let them kill me now. Make them wait till Zurich - After Zurich they can do anything they wish.'
Chapter Forty-two
Elizabeth and Canfield spent three days and nights in their rooms at the Hotel D'Accord. Only once had Canfield gone out - and he had spotted two men following him. They did not try to take him, and it occurred to him that they considered him so secondary to the prime target, Elizabeth, that they dared not risk a call out of the Geneva police, reported to be an alarmingly belligerent force, hostile to those who upset the delicate equilibrium of their neutral city. The experience taught him that the moment they appeared together he could expect an attack no less vicious than the one made on them at the Geneva station. He wished he could send word to Ben Reynolds. But he couldn't, and he knew it. He had been ordered to stay out of Switzerland. He had withheld every piece of vital information from his reports. Elizabeth had seen to that. Group Twenty knew next to nothing about the immediate situation and the motives of those involved. If he did send an urgent request for assistance, he would have to explain, at least partially, and that explanation would lead to prompt interference by the embassy. Reynolds wouldn't wait upon legalities. He would have Canfield seized by force and held incommunicado.
The results were predictable. With him finished, Elizabeth wouldn't have a chance of reaching Zurich. She'd be killed by Scarlett in Geneva. And the secondary target would then be Janet back in London. She couldn't stay at the Savoy indefinitely. Derek couldn't continue his security precautions ad infinitum. She would eventually leave, or Derek would become exasperated and careless. She, too, would be killed. Finally, there was Chancellor Drew, his wife, and seven children. There would be a hundred valid reasons for all to leave the remote Canadian refuge. They'd be massacred. Ulster Stewart Scarlett would win.
At the thought of Scarlett, Canfield was able to summon up what anger was left in him. It was almost enough to match his fear and depression. Almost.
He walked into the sitting room Elizabeth had converted into an office. She was writing on the center table.
'Do you remember the housekeeper at your son's house?' he said.
Elizabeth put down her pencil. It was momentary courtesy, not concern. 'I've seen her on the few occasions I've visited, yes.'
'Where did she come from?'
'As I recall, Ulster brought her back from Europe. She ran a hunting lodge in... southern Germany.' Elizabeth looked up at the field accountant. 'Why do you ask?'
Years later Canfield would reflect that it was because he had been trying to find the words to tell Elizabeth Scarlatti that Hannah was in Geneva that caused him to do what he did. To physically move from one place to another at that particular instant. To cross between Elizabeth and the window. He would carry the remembrance of it as long as he lived.
There was a shattering of glass and a sharp, terrible stinging pain in his left shoulder. Actually the pain seemed to come first. The jolt was so powerful that it spun Canfield around, throwing him across the table, scattering papers, and crashing the lamp to the floor. A second and third shot followed, splintering the thick wood around his body and Canfield, in panic, lurched to one side, toppling Elizabeth off her chair onto the floor. The pain in his shoulder was overpowering, and a huge splotch of blood spread across his shirt.
It was all over in five seconds.
Elizabeth was crouched against the paneling of the wall. She was at once frightened and grateful. She looked at the field accountant lying in front of her trying to hold his shoulder. She was convinced he had thrown himself over her to protect her from the bullets. He never explained otherwise.
'How