Cold Vengeance

CHAPTER 46

NINE STORIES, AND EXACTLY ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY FEET, below Dr. Felder’s table in the Main Reading Room, Special Agent Aloysius Pendergast was listening intently to the ancient bibliophile researcher known as Wren. If Wren had a first name, nobody — including Pendergast — knew what it was. Wren’s entire history — where he lived, where he’d come from, what exactly he did every night and most days in the deepest sublevels of the library — was a mystery. Years without sunlight had faded his skin to the color of parchment, and he smelled faintly of dust and binding paste. His hair stuck out from his head in a halo of white, and his eyes were as black and bright as a bird’s. But for all his eccentric appearance, he had two assets Pendergast prized above all others: a unique gift for research, and a profound knowledge of the New York Public Library’s seemingly inexhaustible holdings.

Now, perched upon a huge stack of papers like a scrawny Buddha, he spoke quickly and animatedly, punctuating his speech with sudden, sharp gestures. “I’ve traced her lineage,” he was saying. “Traced it very carefully, hypocrite lecteur. And it was quite a job, too — the family seems to have been at pains to keep details of their bloodline private. Thank God for the Heiligenstadt Aggregation.”

“The Heiligenstadt Aggregation?” Pendergast repeated.

Wren gave a short nod. “It’s a world genealogy collection, given to the library in the early 1980s by a rather eccentric genealogist based in Heiligenstadt, Germany. The library didn’t really want it, but when the collector also donated millions to, ah, ‘endow’ the collection, they accepted it. Needless to say it was immediately stuffed away in a deep, dark corner to languish. But you know me and deep, dark corners.” He cackled and gave an affectionate pat to a four-foot stack of lined computer printouts sitting next to him. “It’s especially comprehensive when it comes to German, Austrian, and Estonian families — which helped tremendously.”

“Very interesting,” Pendergast said with ill-concealed impatience. “Perhaps you will enlighten me as to your discoveries?”

“Of course. But—” and here the little man paused—“I’m afraid you’re not going to like what I have to tell you.”

Pendergast’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “My preferences are irrelevant. Details, please.”

“Certainly, certainly!” Wren, clearly having a marvelous time, rubbed his hands together. “One lives for details!” He gave the tower of computer printouts another fatherly pat. “Wolfgang Faust’s mother was Helen’s great-grandmother. The lineage goes like this. Helen’s mother, Leni, married András Esterházy, who as it happens was also a doctor. Both Helen’s parents have been dead for some time.” He hesitated. “Did you know, by the way, that Esterhazy is a very ancient and noble Hungarian name? During the reign of the Hapsburgs—”

“Shall we leave the Hapsburgs for another time?”

“Very well.” Wren began ticking off details on his long, yellow fingernails. “Helen’s grandmother was Mareike Schmid née von Fuchs. Wolfgang Faust was Mareike’s sister. The relative they shared was Helen’s great-grandmother, Klara von Fuchs. Note the matrilineal succession.”

“Go on,” Pendergast said.

Wren spread his hands. “In other words, Dr. Wolfgang Faust, war criminal, SS doctor at Dachau, Nazi fugitive in South America… was your wife’s great-uncle.”

Pendergast did not appear to react.

“I’ve drawn up a little family tree.”

Pendergast took the piece of paper, covered with scribbles, and folded it into his suit jacket without glancing at it.

“You know, Aloysius…” Wren’s voice petered off.

“Yes?”

“Just this once, I almost wish that my research had been a failure.”