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Robert Ludlum - Aquatain Progression.txt

Page 16

by The Aquitaine Progression [lit]


  turned and reached for the outsized brass knob.

  "Bonn, Germany," pressed Joel.

  "I heard you. I haven't the vaguest notion what

  you "

  "Leifhelm," said Converse quietly. "Erich Leifhelm."

  The soldier's head turned slowly; his eyes were

  banked fires, the coals glowing, about to erupt at

  the merest gust of wind. "A name known to me, but

  not the man."

  "Tell him I'm coming."

  "Good night, monsieur," said Bertholdier,

  opening the door, his face ashen.

  Joel raced into the bedroom, grabbed his

  suitcase and threw it on the luggage rack. He had to

  get out of Paris. Within hours, perhaps minutes,

  Bertholdier would have him watched, and if he was

  followed to an airport, his passport would expose

  the name Simon as a lie. He could not let that

  happen, not yet.

  It was strange, unsettling. He had never had any

  reason to leave a hotel surreptitiously, and he was

  not sure he knew how to do it only that it had to

  be done. The altering of the registration card had

  been done instinctively, there were occasions when

  legal negotiations had to be kept quiet for every-

  one's benefit. But this was different it was

  abnormal. He had said to Beale on Mykonos that he

  was going to become someone he was not. It was an

  easy thing to say, not at all easy to do.

  His suitcase packed, he checked the battery

  charge on his electric razor and absently turned it

  on, moving it around his chin, as he walked to the

  bedside telephone. He shut the switch off as he

  dialed, unsure of what he would say to the night

  concierge but nevertheless instinctively orienting his

  mind to a business approach. After initial remarks,

  mutually flattering, the words came.

  "There's an extremely sensitive situation, and my

  firm is anxious that I leave for London just as soon

  as possible and as discreetly as possible. Frankly,

  I would prefer not to be seen checking out."

  "Discretion, monsieur, is honored here, and haste is

  a

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 99

  normal request. I shall come up and present your bill

  myself. Say, ten minutes?"

  "I've only one piece of luggage. I'll carry it, but

  I'll need a cab. Not in front."

  "Not in front, of course. The freight elevator,

  monsieur. It connects below with our corridor for

  deliveries. Arrangements will be made."

  "I ve made arrangementst" said Bertholdier

  harshly into the limousine's mobile phone, the glass

  partition between him and the chauffeur tightly shut.

  "One man remains in the gallery in sight of the

  elevators, another in the cellars where the hotel

  supplies are brought in. If he attempts to leave

  during the night, it is the only other exit available to

  him. I've used it myself on several occasions."

  "This . . . is all most difficult to absorb." The

  voice on the line spoke with a clipped British accent,

  the speaker obviously astonished, his breathing

  audible, a man suddenly afraid. "Are you sure?

  Could there be some other linkage?"

  "Imbecile! I repeat. He knew about the munitions

  shipment from Beloit! He knew the routing, even the

  method of theft. He went so far as to identify

  Solidaire and my position as a board member! He

  made a direct reference to our business associate in

  Bonnl Then to Tel Aviv . . .lohannesburgl What

  other linkage could there be?"

  "Corporate entanglements, perhaps. One can't

  rule them out. Multinational subsidiaries, munitions

  investments, our associate in West Germany also sits

  on several boards.... And the locations money pours

  into them."

  "What in the name of God do you think I'm

  talking about? I can say no more now, but what I've

  told you, my English flower, take it to be the worstl"

  There was a brief silence from London. "I

  understand," said the voice of a subordinate rebuked.

  "I hope you do. Get in touch with New York. His

  name is Simon, Henry Simon. He's an attorney from

  Chicago. I have the address; it's from the hotel's

  registration file." Bertholdier squinted under the

  glare of the reading lamp, haltingly deciphering the

  numbers and the numbered street written down by

  an assistant bell captain, well paid by one of the

  general's men to go into the office and obtain

  information on the occupant of suite two-three-five.

  "Do you have that?"

  "Yes." The voice was now sharp, a subordinate about

  to

  100 ROBERT LUDLUM

  redress a grievance. Was it wise to get it that way?

  A friend or a greedy employee might tell him

  someone was inquiring about him.'

  "Really, my British daffodil? An innocuous

  bellboy checking the registry so as to post a lost

  garment to a recent guest?"

  Again the brief silence. ' Yes, I see. You know,

  Jacques, we work for a great cause a business

  cause, of course more important than either of us,

  as we did once years ago. I must constantly remind

  myself of that, or I don't think I could tolerate your

  insults."

  And what would be your recourse, I'Anglais?"

  'To cut your arrogant Frog balls off in Trafalgar

  Square and stuff them in a lion's mouth. The

  repository wouldn't have to be large; an ancient

  crack would do. I'll ring you up in an hour or so.''

  There was a click and the line went dead.

  The soldier lowered the mobile phone in his

  hand, and a smile slowly emerged on his lips. They

  were the best, all of theml They were the hope, the

  only hope of a very sick world.

  Then the smile faded, the blood again draining

  from his face, arrogance turning into fear. What did

  this Henry Simon want, really want? Who was the

  unknown man with access to extraordinary

  sources planes, vehicles, munitions? What in God's

  name did they know?

  The padded elevator descended slowly, its

  interior designed for moving furniture and luggage,

  its speed adjusted for room-service deliveries. The

  night concierge stood beside Joel, his face pleasantly

  impassive; in his right hand was the leather bourse

  containing a copy of Converse's bill and the franc

  notes covering it as well as a substantial gratuity

  for the Frenchman's courtesy.

  A slight whirring sound preceded the stop; the

  panel light shone behind the letters sou-so~, and

  the heavy doors parted. Beyond in the wide hallway

  was a platoon of whitejacketed waiters, maids,

  porters and a few maintenance personnel

  commandeering tables racks of linens, luggage and

  assorted cleaning materials. Loud, rapid chatter,

  heightened by bursts of laughter and guttural

  expletives, accompanied the bustling activity. At the

  sight of the concierge there was a perceptible

  lessening of volume an
d an increase of concentrated

  move

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 101

  meet, along with nods and fawning smiles directed at

  the man who, with the flick of a pen, could eliminate

  their jobs.

  "If you'll just point me in the right direction, I ll

  be on my way," said Joel, not wishing to call further

  attention to himself in the company of the concierge.

  'I've taken up too much of your time."

  "Merct. If you will follow that corridor, it will lead

  to the service exit," replied the Frenchman, pointing

  to a hallway on the left, beyond the bank of

  elevators. "The guard is at his desk and is aware of

  your departure. Outside in the alley, turn right and

  walk to the street; your taxi is waiting for you."

  "I appreciate my firm appreciates your

  cooperation. As I mentioned upstairs, there's nothing

  really that secretive, or unusual just sensitive."

  The hotel man's impassive countenance did not

  change, except for a slightly sharper focus in his eyes.

  "It is of no matter, monsieur, an explanation is not

  required. I did not request it, and if you'll forgive

  me, you should not feel an obligation to offer one.

  Au rewir, Monsieur Simon."

  "Yes, of course," said Converse, maintaining his

  composure though he felt like a schoolboy

  admonished for speaking out of turn, for offering an

  answer when he had not been called upon. "See you

  next time I'm in Paris."

  "We await the day, monsieur. Bonsotr."

  Joel turned quickly, making his way through the

  uniformed crowd toward the hallway, apologising

  whenever his suitcase made contact with a body. He

  had just been taught a lesson, one he should not

  have had to learn. He knew it in a courtroom and in

  conference: Never explain what you don't have to.

  Shut up. But this was not a court or a conference. It

  was, it suddenly dawned on him, an escape, and the

  realization was a little frightening, certainly very

  strange. Or was it? Escape was in his vocabulary, in

  his experience. He had tried it three times before in

  his life years ago. And death had been everywhere.

  He put the thought out of his mind and walked down

  the corridor toward the large metal door in the

  distance.

  He slowed down; something was wrong. Ahead,

  standing in front of the security desk talking to the

  guard was a man in a light-colored topcoat. Joel had

  seen him before but he did not know where; then the

  man moved and Converse began to remember an

  image came back to him. Another man had moved

  the same way taking several steps backward before

  102 ROBERT LUDLUM

  turning to disappear from an archway, and now he

  moved the same way to cross the corridor to lean

  against the wall. Was it the same man? Yes! It was

  the one who had accompanied Bertholdier to the

  dining-room entrance of L'Etalon Blanc. The

  subordinate who had taken leave of a superior then

  was here now under orders from that same superior.

  The man looked up, the flash of recognition

  instantly in his eyes. Stretching, he raised himself to

  his full height and turned away, his hand slowly

  moving toward the fold in his coat. Converse was

  stunned. Was the man actually reaching for a gun ?

  With an armed guard barely ten feet away? It was

  insane! Joel stopped; he considered racing back into

  the crowd by the elevators but knew it was pointless.

  If Bertholdier had posted a watchdog in the

  basement, others would be upstairs, in the corridors,

  in the lobby. He could not turn and run; there was

  no place to go, nowhere to hide. So he kept

  walking, now faster, directly toward the man in the

  light-brown topcoat, his mind confused, his throat

  tight.

  "There you arel"he cried out loud, not sure the

  words were his. "The general told me where to find

  your"

  The man stood motionless, in shock, speechless.

  "Le general2" he said, barely above a whisper. "He .

  . . tell you?"

  The man's English was not good, and that was

  very good. He could understand, but not well.

  Rapidly spoken words, persuasively delivered, might

  get them both out the door. Joel turned to the

  guard while angling his attache case into his

  companion's back. "My name's Simon. I believe the

  concierge spoke to you about me."

  The juxtaposition of the name and the title was

  sufficient for the bewildered guard. He glanced at

  his papers, nodding. "One monsieur. Le concierge . .

  ."

  "Come on!" Converse shoved the attache case

  into the man in the topcoat, propelling him toward

  the door. "The general's waiting for us outside. Let's

  gal Hurry up!"

  "Le general . ?" The man's hands instinctively

  shot out at the crash bar of the exit door, in less

  than five seconds he and Joel were alone in the

  alley. "Que se passe-toil? Oil est le general?... Where?"

  "Here! He said to wait here. You. You're to

  wait here! Ici!"

  "Arre^tez!" The man was recovering. He stood

  his ground. Thrusting his left hand out, he pushed

  Converse back against the wall. With his right hand

  he reached into his overcoat.

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 103

  "Don't!" Joel dropped his attache case, gripping

  his suitcase and pulling it up in front of him, about

  to rush forward. He stopped. The man did not pull

  out a gun; instead, what he had was a thin

  rectangular object bound in black leather, from

  which a long metallic needle rose from the narrow

  flat top. An antenna . . . a radial

  All thought was blurred for Converse, but he

  knew he had to act instantly only mobon counted.

  He could not permit the man to use that radio,

  alerting those with other radios elsewhere in the

  hotel. With a sudden surge of strength he rammed

  his suitcase into the man's knees, tearing the radio

  away with his left hand, whipping his right arm out

  and over the man's shoulder. He crooked his elbow

  around the Frenchman's neck as he spun on the

  pavement. Then without thinking, he yanked

  Bertholdier's soldier forward, so that both of them

  hurtled toward the wall, and crashed the man's head

  into the stone. Blood spread throughout the

  Frenchman's skull, matUng his hair and streaking

  down his face in deep-red rivulets. Joel could not

  think, he could not allow himself to think. If he did,

  he would be sick and he knew it. Mobon, ma lion!

  The man went limp. Converse angled the

  unconscious body by the shoulders, propelling it

  against the wall, shoving it away from the metal door

  and letting it drop in the farther shadows. He leaned

  down and picked up the radio; he snapped off the

  antenna and shoved the case into his pocket. He

  stood up, confused, frightened, trying to orient

&n
bsp; himself. Then, grabbing his attache case and suitcase,

  he raced breathlessly out of the alley, conscious of

  the blood that had somehow erupted over part of his

  face. The taxi was at the curb, the driver smoking a

  cigarette in the darkness, oblivious to the violence

  that had taken place only thirty yards away.

  "De Gaulle Airport!' shouted Joel, opening the

  door and throwing his luggage inside. "Please, I'm in

  a hurry!" He lurched into the seat, gasping, his neck

  stretched above the cushioned rim, swallowing the air

  that would not fill his lungs.

  The rushing lights and shadows that bombarded

  the interior of the cab served to keep his thoughts

  suspended, allowing his racing pulse to decelerate

  and the air to reach him, slowly drying the

  perspiration at his temples and his neck. He leaned

  forward, wanUng a cigarette but afraid he would

  vomit from the smoke trapped in his throat. He shut

  his eyes so tightly a thousand specks of white light

  assaulted the dark

  104 ROBERT LUDLUM

  screen of his mind. He felt ill, and he knew it was

  not simply fear alone that had brought on the

  nausea. It was something else, something that was in

  and of itself as paralysing fear. He had committed

  an act of utter brutality, and it both shocked and

  appalled him. He had actually physically attacked a

  man, wanUng to cripple him, perhaps kill

  him which he may very well have done. No matter

  why, he may have killed another human being! Did

  the presence of a hand-held radio justify a shattered

  skull? Did it constitute self-defence? Goddamn it, he

  was a man of words, of logic, not blood! Never

  blood, that was in the past, so long ago and so

 

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