The Scarletti Inheritance - By Robert Ludlum Page 0,132

in the chair. It was horrible.

The man was a semi-invalid. He seemed to be paralyzed through the entire left portion of his body, extending to his jaw. His hands were folded across his front, his fingers extended as though spastic. But his eyes were alert. His eyes.

His face - Covered over by white splotches of skin graft below gray short-cropped hair. The man spoke.

'What you see was carried out of Sevastopol. Operation Barbarossa.'

'What do you have to tell us, Kroeger?'

'First, April Red... Tell him to come closer,'

'Come here, Andy. By me.'

'Andy!' The man in the chair laughed through his half-closed mouth. 'Isn't that nice! Andy! Come here, Andy!'

Andrew Scarlett approached his stepfather and stood by his side, looking down at the deformed man in the chair.

'So you're the son of Ulster Scarlett?'

'I'm Matthew Canfield's son.'

Canfield held his place, watching the father and son. He suddenly felt as though he didn't belong. He had the feeling that giants - old and infirm, young and scrawny - were about to do battle. And he was not of their house.

'No, young man, you're the son of Ulster Stewart Scarlett, heir to Scarlatti!'

'I'm exactly what I want to be! I have nothing to do with you.' The young man breathed deeply. The fear was leaving him now, and in its place Canfield saw that a quiet fury was taking hold of the boy.

'Easy, Andy. Easy.'

'Why?... For him?... Look at him. He's practically dead - He doesn't even have a face.'

'Stop it!' Ulster Scarlett's shrill voice reminded Canfield of that long-ago room in Zurich 'Stop it, you fool!'

'For what? For you?... Why should I?... I don't know you! I don't want to know you!... You left a long time ago!' The young man pointed to Canfield. 'He took over for you. I listen to him. You're nothing to me!'

'Don't you talk to me like that! Don't you dare!'

Canfield spoke sharply. 'I've brought April Red, Kroeger! What have you got to deliver! That's what we're here for. Let's get it over with!'

'He must understand first!' The misshapen head nodded back and forth. 'He must be made to understand!'

'If it meant that much, why did you hide it? Why did you become Kroeger?'

The nodding head stopped, the ashen slit eyes stared. Canfield remembered Janet speaking about that look.

'Because Ulster Scarlett was not fit to represent the new order. The new world! Ulster Scarlett served his purpose and once that purpose was accomplished, he was no longer necessary - He was a hindrance - He would have been a joke.

He had to be eliminated...'

'Perhaps there was something else, too.'

'What?'

'Elizabeth. She would have stopped you again - She would have stopped you later, just the way she stopped you at Zurich.'

At Elizabeth's name, Heinrich Kroeger worked up the phlegm in his scarred throat and spat. It was an ugly sight. 'The bitch of the world!... But we made a mistake in twenty-six - Let's be honest I made the mistake - I should have asked her to join us - She would have, you know. She wanted the same things we did - '

'You're wrong about that.'

'Hah! You didn't know her!'

The former field accountant replied softly without inflection.

'I knew her - Take my word for it, she despised everything you stood for.'

The Nazi laughed quietly to himself. That's very funny - I told her she stood for everything I despised - '

'Then you were both right.'

'No matter. She's in hell now.'

'She died thinking you were dead. She died in peace because of that.'

'Hah! You'll never know how tempted I was over the years, especially when we took Paris!... But I was waiting for London... I was going to stand outside Whitehall and announce it to the world - and watch Scarlatti destroy itself!'

'She was gone by the time you took Paris.'

'That didn't matter.'

'I suppose not. You were just as afraid of her in death as you were when she was alive.'

'I was afraid of no one! I was afraid of nothing!' Heinrich Kroeger strained his decrepit body.

Then why didn't you carry out your threat? The house of Scarlatti lives.'

'She never told you?'

Told me what?'

The bitch-woman always covered herself on four flanks. She found her corruptible man. My one enemy in the Third Reich. Goebbels. She never believed I'd been killed at Zurich. Goebbels knew who I was. After nineteen thirty-three she threatened our respectability with lies. Lies about me. The party was more important than revenge.'

Canfield watched the destroyed man below him. As always, Elizabeth Scarlatti had been ahead