Robert Ludlum - Aquatain Progression.txt

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by The Aquitaine Progression [lit]


  "Sin Bier," said the seaman, shrugging.

  "Why not whisky?"

  'Baja?"

  "Certainly."

  "Ja. "

  Minutes later they were at a table. Joel told his

  story about a nonexistent whore and a fictional pimp.

  He told it slowly not because he felt he had to pace

  the narrative to his listener's understanding, but

  because another option was coming sharply into

  focus. The guitar-playing merchantman was young,

  but there was a patina about him that indicated he

  knew the docks and the waterfront and the various

  businesses that flourished in that very special world.

  "You should go to the Polizei, " said the man

  when Converse had finished. "They know the whores

  and they will not print your name." The German

  smiled. "We want you back to spend more money."

  "I can't take the chance. In spite of the way I

  look, I deal with a lot of important people here and

  in America."

  "Which makes you important, ja?"

  "And very stupid. If I could just get over into

  Holland, I could handle everything."

  "Die IViederlande? Vat is problem?"

  428 ROBERT LUDLUM

  "I told you, my passport was taken. And it's just

  my luck that every American crossing any border is

  looked at very carefully. You know, that crazy

  bastard who killed the ambassador in Bonn and the

  NATO commander.

  "Ja, and in Wesel two, three days ago, said the

  German. "They say he goes to Paris.

  'I m afraid that doesn t help me.... Look, you

  know the river people, the men who have boats

  going out every day. I told you l d pay you a

  hundred dollars for the hotel....

  "I agreed. You are generous.

  "I'll pay you a great deal more if you can

  somehow get me over into Holland. You see, my

  company has an office in Amsterdam. They can help

  me. Will you help me?"

  The German grimaced and looked at his watch.

  "Is too late for such arrangements tonight and I

  leave for Bremerhaven on the morning train. My

  ship sails at fifteen hundred.

  "That was the amount I had in mind. Fifteen

  hundred. '

  "Deutsche marks?"

  "Dollars.

  "You are more crazy than your Landsmann who

  kills soldiers. If you knew the language, it cost no

  more than fifty.

  "I don t know the language. Fifteen hundred

  American dollars for you if you can arrange it.

  The young man looked hard at Converse, then

  moved back his chair. "Wait here. I will make phone

  call.

  "Send over more whisky on your way.

  "Danke. "

  The waiting was spent in a vacuum of anxiety.

  Joel looked at the weathered guitar Iying across an

  extra chair. What were the words? . . . When you f

  nally came down, when your feet hit the ground . . .

  did you know where you were? When you f sally were

  real, could you touch . . . what you feel, were you

  there in the know?. . .

  "I will stop for you at five o'clock in the

  morning, announced the merchant seaman, who sat

  down with two glasses of whisky. "The captain will

  accept two hundred dollars, aber only if there are no

  drugs. If there are drugs, you don't come on board."

  "I have no drugs, 'said Converse, smiling,

  controlling his elation. "That's done and you ve

  earned your money. 111 pay you at the dock or pier

  or whatever it is.

  "Natu'rlich.

  * * *

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 429

  It had all happened less than an hour ago,

  thought Joel, watching the hotel entrance across the

  street. At five o'clock in the morning he would be on

  his way to Holland, to Amsterdam, to a man named

  Cort Thorbecke, Mattilon's broker of illegal

  passports. All the passenger manifests on all aircraft

  heading for the United States would be watched by

  Aquitaine, but a hundred years ago he had learned

  that there were ways to elude the watchers. He had

  done it before from a deep, cold shaft in the ground

  and despite a barbed-wire fence in the darkness. He

  could do it again.

  A figure emerged under the dimly lit marquee of

  the hotel. It was the young merchant seaman.

  Grinning, he beckoned Converse to join him.

  "Hell's fire and Jeesus H. what is it, Norman?"

  cried the Southerner, as Washburn suddenly went

  into an erratic of convulsions, his lips trembling as he

  gasped for air.

  "I . . . don't . . . know." The major's eyes grew

  wide, the pupils now dancing and out of control.

  'Maybe it's that Heimlich thing!" said Thomas

  Thayer, rising from the banquette and quickly

  moving toward Washburn. Hell no, it can't be! Our

  food's not here; you haven't eaten!"

  The couples near by expressed alarm, talking

  loudly, rapidly in German. At a remark made by one

  of the diners, the Southerner turned and spoke to

  the man. 'Midas glaube ich night, " said Johnny Reb

  in flawless German. 'A1ein Wagen sight draussen Ich

  weiss einen Arzt. "

  The maitre d' came rushing over and, seeing that

  the commotion involved the Americans, addressed

  his concern in English. "Is the major ill, sir? Shall I

  ask if there is . . ."

  "No doctor I'm not familiar with, thanks,"

  interrupted Thayer, bent over the embassy's charge

  d'affaires, who was now inhaling deeply, his eyes half

  closed, his head swaying back and forth. 'This here is

  Molly Washburn s boy and I'll see he gets the best!

  My car's outside. Maybe if a couple of your waiters

  will give a hand we can put him in the limo and I'll

  take him right over to my man. He's a specialist. At

  my age you gatta have 'em everywhere."

  'Restimmt. Certainly!" The maitre d' snapped his

  fingers; three busboys responded instantly.

  "The embassy . . . the embassy! ' choked Washburn as

  the

  430 ROBERT LUDLlJM

  three men half carried the officer to the door of the

  restaurant.

  "Don't you worry, Norman-boy!" said the

  Southerner hearing the plea, walking with the

  maltre d'. "I'll phone 'em from the car, tell 'em to

  meet us at Rudi's place." Thayer turned to the

  German beside him. "You know what Ah think? Ah

  think this fine soldier is jest plumb wore out. He's

  been workin'from sunrise to sunrise with nary a

  break. I mean, can you imagine everything he's had

  to contend with these last couple of days? That

  crazy mongrel goin around shootin' up a feud, killin'

  the ambassador, then that honcho in Brussels! You

  know, Molly's boy here is the charday d'affaires."

  "Yes, the major is our guest frequently an

  honored guest."

  ' Well, even the most honorable among us has a

  right and a hme to say 'The hell with it, I'll sit this

  one out.'"

  "I'm not sure I understand."

  "A
h have an idea this fine young man who I

  knew as a mere saplin' led never learned about the

  quantitative effects of old demon whisky."

  "Ohh?" The metre d' looked at Johnny Reb a

  fashionable gossipmonger relishing a new rumor.

  "He had several mites too much, that's all and

  that's jest between us."

  "He vas not in focus...."

  "He started bustin' corks before the sun hit the

  whites of the west cotton." They reached the front

  entrance, the unit of busboys maneuvering

  Washburn out the door. "Who was more entitled?

  That's what I say." Thayer removed his wallet.

  'ha, I agree."

  "Here," said the Southerner, removing bills. "I

  haven't had hme to convert, so there's a hundred

  American that should cover the tab and plenty for

  the boys outside.... And here's a hundred for

  you for not talkie' too much, verstehen ?"

  "Completely, main Herr!" The German pocketed

  both $100 bills, smiling and nodding his head

  obsequiously. "I vill say absolutely nozzing!''

  "Well, I wouldn't go that far. It might be a good

  thing for Molly's boy to learn that it ain't the end of

  the world if a few people know he's had a drink or

  two. Might loosen him up a bit, and in mah Georgia

  judgment, he needs a little

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 431

  Joosenin . Maybe you might wink at him when he

  next comes m.

  "Vink?"

  'Give him a friendly smile, like you know and it's

  okay. Verstehen?"

  '/a, I agree! He vas entitled!'

  Outside at the curb, Johnny Reb instructed the

  busboys just how to place Major Norman Anthony

  Washburn IV into the backseat. Stretched out, facing

  up, supine. The Southerner gave each man a $20

  American bill and dismissed them. He then spoke to

  the two men in front, pressing a button so they could

  hear his voice beyond the glass partition.

  'Ah got the jump seats down," he said, pulling

  the velvet backs out of the velvet wall. He's out.

  Come on and join me, Witch Doctor. And you,

  Klaus, you entertain us with a long drive in your

  beautiful countryside."

  Minutes later, as the limousine entered a

  backcountry road, the overhead light switched on,

  the doctor unbuckled Washburn's belt, slid the

  trousers down, and rolled the charge d'affaires over

  and into the seat. He found the area he wanted at

  the base of the spine, the needle held above in his

  steady hand.

  "Ready, chap? 'asked the dark-skinned

  Palestinian, yanking down the elastic top of the

  unconscious man's shorts

  "You got it, Pookie," answered Johnny Reb,

  holding a small recorder over the edge of the jump

  seat. "Right where he won't find it for a week, if he

  ever does. Take him up, Arab. I want him tony."

  The doctor inserted the long hypodermic needle,

  slowly pressing his thumb on the plunger. "It will be

  quick," said the Palestinian. "It is a heavy dose and

  I've seen it happen when the patient began babbling

  before the interrogator was ready."

  "I'm ready."

  "Put him on track instantly. Ask direct questions,

  canter his concentration immediately."

  "Oh, Ah will, indeed. This is a bad man, Pookie.

  A nasty little boy who tells tall tales that ain't got

  nothin' to do with a big catfish that broke off a

  hook." The Southerner gripped the unconscious

  Washburn's left shoulder and yanked him forward,

  face up on the seat. "All right, Molly's boy, let's you

  and me talk. How come you got the audacity to mess

  around with an officer of the United States Navy

  named Fitzpatrick? Con

  432 ROBERT LUDLUM

  nal Fitzpatrick, boy! Fitzpatrick, Fitzpatrick,

  Fitzpatrick! C'mon, baby, talk to Daddy, 'cause

  you've got nobody else but Daddy! Everyone you

  think you got is gone! They set you up Molly's boy!

  They made you lie in print so the whole world

  knows you lied! But Daddy can make it right. Daddy

  can straighten it all out and put you on top right

  on the very top! The Joint Chiefs the bid chief!

  Daddy's your tit, boy! Grab it or suck air! Where'd

  you put Fitzpatrick? Fitzpatrick, Fitzpatrick! "

  The whisper came as Washburn's body writhed

  on the seat, his head whipping back and forth, saliva

  oozing out of the edges of his mouth. 'Scharhorn,

  the isle of Scharhorn. . . . The Heligoland Right.'

  Caleb Dowling was not only angry but

  bewildered. Despite a thousand doubts he could not

  let it go; too many things did not make sense, not

  the least of which was the fact that for three days

  he had been unable to get an appointment with the

  acting ambassador The scheduling attache claimed

  there was too much confusion resulting from Walter

  Peregrine's assassination to permit an audience at

  this time. Perhaps in a week.... In short words,

  actor, get lost, we have important things to do and

  you're not one of them. He was being checked,

  shoved into a corner and given the lip service one

  gives to a well-known but insignificant person. His

  motives as well as his intelligence were undoubtedly

  being questioned out loud by arrogant, harried

  diplomats. Or someone else.

  Which was why he was sitting now at a back

  table in the dimly lit bar of the Konigshof Hotel.

  He had learned the name of Peregrine's secretary,

  one Enid Heathley, and had sent the stunt man,

  Moose Rosenberg, to the embassy with a sealed

  letter purportedly from a close friend of Miss

  Heathley's in the States. Moose's instructions had

  been to deliver the envelope personally, and as

  Rosenberg's size was formidable, no one in the

  reception room had argued. Heathley had come

  down in person. The message was short and to the

  point.

  Dear Miss Heathley:

  I believe it to be of the utmost importance

  that

  we talk as soon as possible. I will be in the bar of

  the

  Konigshof at 7:30 this evening. If it is convenient

  please have a drink with me, but I urge you not to

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 433

  speak to anyone about our meeting. Please, no one.

  Sincerely,

  C. Dowling

  It was seven-thirty-eight and Caleb was growing

  anxious. For the past several years he was used to

  people being on time for appointments and

  interviews; it was one of the minor perks of being Pa

  Ratchet. But there could be several reasons why the

  secretary might not wish to meet with him. She knew

  that Peregrine and he had become friends of sorts

  and also that there were actors who were known to

  seek publicity from events they had nothing to do

  with, posturing with statesmen and politicians when

  they couldn't spell out a position on slavery. He

  hoped to hell . . .

  There she Divas. The middle-aged w
oman had

  come through the door, squinting in the dim light.

  The maltre d' approached her, and moments later

  she was escorted to Dowling's table.

  'Thank you for coming," said Caleb, rising as

  Enid Heathley took her chair. "I wouldn't have asked

  you if I didn't think it was important," he added,

  sitting down again.

  'I gathered that from your note," said the

  pleasant-faced woman with signs of grey in her hair

  and very intelligent eyes. Her drink ordered, casual

  talk covered its arrival.

  'I imagine it's been very difficult for you," said

  Dowling.

  "It hasn't been easy," agreed Miss Heathley. "I

  was Mr. Peregrine's secretary for nearly twenty years.

  He used to call us a team, and Jane and I Mrs.

  Peregrine are quite close. I should be with her now,

  but I told her I had some last-minute things to do at

  the office."

  "How is she?"

  "Still in shock, of course. But she'll make it.

  She's strong. Walter wanted the women around him

  strong. He thought they were worthwhile and they

  shouldn't hide their worth."

  "I like that kind of thinking, Miss Heathley."

  Her drink came, the waiter left, and the secretary

  looked quizzically at Caleb. 'Forgive me, Mr.

  Dowling, I can't say I'm a devoted follower of your

  television show, but, of course, I've seen it a number

  of times. It seems that whenever I'm asked to dinner

 

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