Robert Ludlum - Aquatain Progression.txt
Page 67
"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