THE
AQUITAINE
PROGRESSION
ROBERT LUDLUM
BANTAM BOOKS
TORONTO NEW YORK - LONDON -SYDNEY-AUCKLAND
For Jeffrey Michael Ludlum
Welcome, friend
Have a great life
This low-priced Bantam Book
has been completed reed in a type face
designed for easy reading, and was printed
from new plates. It contains the complete
text of the original hard-cover edition.
NOT ONE WORD HAS BEEN OMITTED.
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION
A Bantam Book/published by arrangement with
Random House,
Inc.
PRINTING HISTORY
Random House edition published March 1984
A Bool`-of-the-Month Club Main Selection,
April 1984
Bantam Export editionlApril 1984
2nd printing.... August 1984
Bantam edition/March 198~'i
Grateful acknowledgment is made to Michael
LudRum for
permission to reprint Iyricsfrom "I Need You
Darling. Copyright
0 1983 by Michael Ludlum.
Cover art by Paul Bacon courtesy of Random
House.
All rights reserved.
Copyright O 1984 by Robert Ludlum.
T Is book may not be reproduced in whole
or in part, by
mimeograph or any other means, without
permission.
For information address: Random House, Inc.
ao1 East 50th Street, New York, N.Y. 10022.
ISBN ~a;3-24900-2
Pubifshed simultaneously in the United States
and Canada
Bantam Books are published by Bantam
Books, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the
words "Bantam Boah~ and the portrayal
of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent
and Trademark Ofpee and in other
countries. Marca Plegistrada. Bantam
Books, Inc., 666 Fifth Avenue, New Yorl`,
New York 1010Si.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF
AMERICA
H 098 76 54 3 81
PART ONE
Geneva. City of sunlight and bright reflections.
Of billowing white sails on the lake sturdy,
irregular buildings above, their rippling images on
the water below. Of myriad flowers surrounding
blue-green pools of fountains duets of exploding
colors.Of small quaint bridges arching over the
glassy surfaces of man-made ponds to tiny
man-made islands, sanctuaries for lovers and friends
and quiet negotiators. Reflections.
Geneva, the old and the new. City of high
medieval walls and glistening tinted glass, of sacred
cathedrals and less holy institutions. Of sidewalk
cafes and lakeside concerts, of miniature piers and
gaily painted boats that chug around the vast
shoreline, the guides extolling the virtues and the
estimated value of the lakefront estates that surely
belong to another time.
Geneva. City of purpose, dedicated to the
necessity of dedication, frivolity tolerated only when
intrinsic to the agenda or the deal. Laughter is
measured, controlled glances conveying approval
of sufficiency or admonishing excess. The canton by
the lake knows its soul. Its beauty coexists with
industry, the balance not only accepted but jealously
guarded.
Geneva. City also of the unexpected, of
predictability in conflict with sudden unwanted
revelation, the violence of the mind struck by bolts
of personal lightning.
Cracks of thunder follow; the skies grow dark
and the rains come. A deluge, pounding the angry
waters taken by surprise, distorting vision, crashing
down on the giant spray, Geneva's trademark on the
lake, thejet d 'ear, that geyser designed by man to
dazzle man. When sudden revelations come, the
gigantic fountain dies. All the fountains die and
without the sunlight the flowers wither. The bright
reflections are gone and the mind is frozen.
Geneva. City of inconstancy.
3
4 ROBERT LUDLUM
* * *
Joel Converse, attorney-at-law, walked out of
the hotel Richemondinto the blinding morning
sunlight on the Jardin Brunswick. Squinting, he
turned left, shifting his attache case to his right
hand, conscious of the value of its contents but
thinking primarily about the man he was to meet
for coffee and croissants at Le Chat Botte, a
sidewalk cafe across from the waterfront. "Re-meet"
was more accurate, thought Converse, if the man
had not confused him with someone else.
A. Preston Halliday was Joel's American
adversary in the current negotiations, the finalising
of last-minute details for a Swiss-American merger
that had brought both men to Ge neva. Although
the remaining work was minimal formalities,
really, research having established that the
agreements were in accord with the laws of both
countries and acceptable to the International Court
in The Hague Halliday was an odd choice. He had
not been part of the American legal team fielded by
the Swiss to keep tabs on Joel's firm. That in itself
would not have excluded him fresh observation
was frequently an asset but to elevate him to the
position of point, or chief spokesman, was, to say
the least, unorthodox. It was also unsettling.
Halliday's reputation what little Converse knew
of it was as a troubleshooter, a legal mechanic
from San Francisco who could spot a loose wire, rip
it out and short an engine. Negotiations covering
months and costing hundreds of thousands had been
aborted by his presence, that much Converse
recalled about A. Preston Halliday. But that was all
he recalled. Yet Halliday said they knew each other.
"It's Press Halliday," the voice had announced
over the hotel phone. "I'm pointing for Rosen in the
Comm Tech-gem merger."
"What happened?"Joel had asked, a muted
electric razor in his left hand, his mind trying to
locate the name; it had come to him by the time
Halliday replied.
"The poor bastard had a stroke, so his partners
called me in." The lawyer had paused. "You must
have been mean, counselor."
"We rarely argued, counselor. Christ, I'm sorry,
I like Aaron. How is he?"
"He'll make it. They've got him in bed and on a
dozen versions of chicken soup. He told me to tell
you he's going to check your finals for invisible ink."
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION S
"Which means you 're going to check because I
don't have any and neither did Aaron. This marriage
is based on pure greed, a
nd if you've studied the
papers you know that as well as I do."
"The larceny of investment write-offs," agreed
Halliday, "combined with a large chunk of a
technological market. No invisible ink. But since I'm
the new boy on the block, I've got a couple of
questions. Let's have breakfast."
"I was about to order room service."
"It's a nice morning, why not get some air? I'm at
the President, so let's split the distance. Do you
know the Chat Botte?"
'American coffee and croissants. Quai du Mont
Blanc.- "You know it. How about twenty minutes?"
"Make it a half hour, okay?"
"Sure." Halliday had paused again. "It'll be good
to see you again, Joel."
"Oh? Again?"
"You may not remember. A lot's happened since
those days . . . more to you than to me, I'm afraid."
"I'm not following you."
"Well, there was Vietnam and you were a
prisoner for a pretty long time."
"That's not what I meant, and it was years ago.
How do we know each other? What case?"
"No case, no business. We were classmates."
"Duke? It's a large law school."
"Further back. Maybe you'll remember when we
see each other. If you don't, I'll remind you."
"You must like games.... Half an hour. Chat Botte."
As Converse walked toward the Quai du Mont
Blanc, the vibrant boulevard fronting the lake, he
tried to fit Halliday's name into a time frame, the
years to a school, a forgotten face to match an
unremembered classmate. None came, and Halliday
was not a common name, the short form "Press"
even less so . . . unique, actually. If he had known
someone named Press Halliday, he could not
imagine forgetting it. Yet the tone of voice had
implied familiarity, even closeness.
It'll be good to see you again, Joel. He had spoken
the words warmly, as he had the gratuitous reference
to Joel's POW status. But then, those words were
always spoken softly to imply sympathy if not to
express it overtly. Too, Converse understood why
under the circumstances Halliday felt he had
6 ROBERT LUDLUM
to bring up the subject of Vietnam, even fleetingly.
The uninitiated assumed that all men imprisoned in
the North Vietnamese camps for any length of time
had been mentally damaged, per se, that a part of
their minds had been altered by the experience,
their recollections muddled. To a degree, some of
these assumptions were undeniable, but not with re-
spect to memory. Memories were sharpened because
they were searched compulsively, often mercilessly.
The accumulated years, the layers of experience . .
. faces with eyes and voices, bodies of all sizes and
shapes; scenes flashing across the inner screen, the
sights and sounds, images and smells touching and
the desire to touch . . . nothing of the past was too
inconsequential to peel away and explore. Fre-
quently it was all they had, especially at
night always at night, with the cold, penetrating
dampness stiffening the body and the infinitely
colder fear paralysing the mind memories were
everything. They helped mute the sharp reports of
small-arms fire, which were gratuitously explained in
the mornings as necessary executions of the unco-
operative and unrepentant. Or they blocked out the
distant screams in the dark, of even more
unfortunate prisoners forced to play games, too
obscene to describe, demanded by their captors in
search of amusement.
Like most men kept isolated for the greater part
of their imprisonment, Converse had examined and
reexamined every stage of his life, trying to
understand . . . to like . . . the cohesive whole. There
was much that he did not understand or like but
he could live with the product of those intensive
investigations. Die with it, if he had to; that was the
peace he had to reach for himself. Without it the
fear was intolerable.
And because these self-examinations went on
night after night and required the discipline of
accuracy, Converse found it easier than most men to
remember whole segments of his life. Like a
spinning disk attached to a computer that suddenly
stops, his mind, given only basic information, could
isolate a place or a person or a name. Repetition
had simplified and accelerated the process, and that
was what bewildered him now. Unless Halliday was
referring to a time so far back as to have been only
a brief, forgotten childhood acquaintance, no one of
that name belonged to his past.
It'll tee good to see you again, JoeL Were the
words a ruse, a lawyer's trick?
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 7
Converse rounded the corner, the brass railing of
Le Chat Botte glistening, hurling back tiny explosions
of sunlight. The boulevard was alive with gleaming
small cars and spotless buses; the pavements were
washed clean, the strollers in various stages of
hurried but orderly progress. Morning was a time for
benign energy in Geneva. Even the newspapers
above the tables in the sidewalk cafes were snapped
with precision, not crushed or mutilated into legible
positio~And vehicles and pedestrians were not at
war; combat was supplanted by looks and nods, stops
and gestures of acknowledgment. As Joel walked
through the open brass gate of Le Chat Botte he
wondered briefly if Geneva could export its mornings
to New York. But then the City Council would vote
the import down, he concluded the citizens of New
York could not stand the civility.
A newspaper was snapped directly below him on
his left, and when it was lowered Converse saw a
face he knew. It was a coordinated face, not unlike
his own, the features compatible and in place. The
hair was straight and dark, neatly parted and
brushed, the nose sharp, above well-defined lips. The
face belonged to his past, thought Joel, but the name
he remembered did not belong to the face.
The familiar-looking man raised his head; their
eyes met and A. Preston Halliday rose, his short
compact body obviously muscular under the
expensive suit.
"Joel, how are you?" said the now familiar voice,
a hand outstretched above the table.
"Hello . . . Avery," replied Converse, staring,
awkwardly shifting his attache case to grip the hand.
"It is Avery, isn't it? Avery Fowler. Taft, early
sixties.. You never came back For the senior year,
and no one knew why; we all talked about it. You
were a wrestler."
"Twice All New England," said the attorney,
laughing, gesturing at the chair across from his own.
"Sit down and we'll catch up. I guess it's sort of a
surprise for you. That's why I wanted us to meet
before the conference this morning. ~ me
an, it'd be
a hell of a note for you to get up and scream
'Impostort' when I walked in, wouldn't it?"
"I'm still not sure I won't." Converse sat down,
attache case at his feet, studying his legal opponent.
"What's this Halliday routine? Why didn't you say
something on the phone?"
"Oh, come on, what was I going to say? 'By the way,
old
8 ROBERT LUDLUM
sport, you used to know me as Tinkerbell Jones.'
You never would have showed up."
"Is Fowler in jail somewhere?"
"He would have been if he hadn't blown his
head off," answered Halliday, not laughing.
"You're full of surprises. Are you a clone?"
"No, the son."
Converse paused. ' Maybe I should apologize."
"No need to, you couldn't have known. It's why
I never came back for the senior year . . . and,
goddamn it, I wanted that trophy. I would have
been the only mat jock to win it three years in a
row."
"I'm sorry. What happened . . . or is it privileged
information, counselor? I'll accept that."
"Not for you, counselor. Remember when you
and I broke out to New Haven and picked up those
pigs at the bus station?"
'We said we were Yalies "
"And only got taken, never got laid."
"Our eyebrows were working overtime."
"Preppies," said Halliday. "They wrote a book
about us. Are we really that emasculated?"
"Reduced in stature, but we'll come back. We're
the last minority, so we'll end up getting sympathy....
What happened, Avery?"
A waiter approached; the moment was broken.
Both men ordered American coffee and croissants,
Robert Ludlum - Aquatain Progression.txt Page 1
