Robert Ludlum - Aquatain Progression.txt

by The Aquitaine Progression [lit]

  aisle,

  526 ROBERT LUDLUM

  pretending to check his schedule and bending down

  to look out the darkened window. He would stay

  there for as long as he had to, until one of the

  hunters spotted him. It took less than ten seconds.

  As Converse pitched his head down supposedly to

  see a passing sign outside he caught a glimpse of a

  figure moving into the upper panel of glass on the

  forward door. Joel stood up. The man behind the

  glass spun out of sight. It was the sign he had been

  waiting for, the moment to move quickly.

  He turned and walked to the rear of the car,

  opened the door and crossed the dark clattering

  space to the car behind. He went inside and swiftly

  made his way down the aisle, again to the rear and

  again into the next car, turning in the intervening

  darkness to see what he expected to see, what he

  wanted to see. The man was following him. A guard

  was taking himself out of position in the downpour.

  Only seconds and he could reach the barbed wire.

  As he ran through the third car a number of

  passengers looked up at him, at a running priest.

  Most turned in their seats to see if there was an

  emergency, and seeing none shook their heads in

  bewilderment. He reached the door, pulled it open,

  and stepped into the shadows, suddenly startled by

  what he saw. In front of him, instead of another

  railroad-car door, the upper part a window, there

  was a solid panel of heavy wood, the word

  FRACHT printed across the midsection above a

  large steel knob. Then he heard the announcement

  over the loud-speakers:

  "Benthelm! Nachste Station, Benthelm!"

  The train was slowing down, the first of two

  stops before Osnabruck. Joel moved forward into

  the darkest area and inched his head in view of the

  window behind him, confident that he could not be

  seen by a man facing light reflected off a panel of

  glass. What he saw again startled him not by the

  activity, but by the inactivity. The hunter made no

  move toward the door; instead, he sat down facing

  forward, a commuter finding a more comfortable

  seat, nothing else on his mind. The train came to a

  stop; those passengers getting off were forming a

  line in front . . . in front.

  There had been a sign above this last door, but

  since he could not read it, he had simply gone

  through. He looked now at the exit doors; there

  were no handles. Obviously that incomprehensible

  sign was there to inform anyone who approached

  the door that it was not an exit. If he had been

  facing

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 527

  a trap before, he was in a cage now, a steel cage that

  began moving again, as the wheels gathered speed

  against the tracks. A racing jail from which there was

  no escape. Converse reached into his shirt pocket

  and took out his cigarettes. He had been so close to

  the barbed wire; he had to think!

  A rattle? A key . . . a bolt The door of a heavy

  wood with the word FRACHT stenciled on it opened

  and the figure of a stout man emerged, preceded by

  his stomach.

  "Sin Zigarette for Sei, wahrend ich sum Pinkeln

  gehe!" said the railroad guard, laughing, as he crossed

  through the short, dark corridor to the door. "Dann

  ein Whisky, ja?"

  The German was going for a drink, and although

  he had pulled the door of his domain nearly shut, he

  had not closed it; he was an untroubled man, a

  guard with nothing he felt worth guarding. Joel

  pushed the heavy panel open and went inside,

  knowing what would happen; it had to happen the

  instant the guard walked by the hunter on his way to

  "ein Whss

  . ,,

  icy.

  There were half a dozen sealed crates and

  roughly ten cages holding animals dogs mostly and

  several cats, cowering in corners, claws extended at

  the sound of growls and barks. The only light came

  from a naked bulb swaying on a thick wire from the

  ceiling beyond another cage, this one built for man

  with wire mesh at the end of the freight car.

  Converse concealed himself behind a crate near the

  door. He reached under his priestly coat and pulled

  out the gun with the perforated cylinder, the silencer.

  The door opened cautiously, millimeter by

  millimeter the weapon appeared before the hand or

  the arm. Finally there was the man, the foot soldier

  from Aquitaine.

  Joel fired twice, not trusting a single shot. The

  arm crashed back into the edge of the half-open

  door, the gun spinning out of the killer's hand, a

  single spurt of blood erupting near the executioner's

  wrist. Converse sprang from behind the crate the

  patrol was his, and so was the stretch of

  barbed-wirefence!Hecould climb it and crawl over now!

  The rock had smashed the window in the barracks!

  The staccato barrage of machine-gun fire was spraying

  where he was not! Seconds, only seconds, and he was

  out!

  Joel pinned the man to the floor, gripping his

  throat and pressing one knee on his chest one

  prolonged squeeze and the soldier from Aquitaine

  would be dead. He held the barrel of the gun against

  the man's temple.

  528 ROBERT LUDLUM

  "You speak any English?"

  "la/" coughed the German. "I . . . speak English."

  "What were your orders?"

  ' Follow you. Only follow you. Don't shoot! I am

  Angestellte! I know nothing!"

  "A what?"

  "A hired man!"

  "Aquitaine!"

  "What?"

  The man was not Iying; there was too much

  panic in his eyes. Converse raised the gun and

  abruptly shoved it into the German's left eye, the

  perforated cylinder pressed deep into the socket.

  "You tell me exactly what you were told to do!

  The truth and I'll know a lie and if you lie, your

  skull will be all over this wall! Talk to me!"

  "To follow you!"

  "And?"

  "If you left the train we were to phone the

  Polizei Wherever. Then . . . the orders were to kill

  you before they came. But I would not do that! I

  swear by my Christ I would never do that! I am a

  good Christian. I even love the Jews! I am un-

  employed!"

  Joel crashed the weapon into the man's

  skull the patrol had been taken out! Ile could climb

  the fence now! He pulled the German behind a crate

  and waited. How long it was impossible to tell; time

  had lost its meaning. The railway guard came back,

  somewhat more drunk than sober, and took refuge

  behind his wire-meshed office with the single light

  bulb.

  The other cages were not so serene. The smell

  of human blood and sweat was more than the dogs

  could take; they began to react. Within minutes the

  railway car labeled FRACHT became a madhouse,
r />   the animals were now hysterical the dogs snarling,

  barking, hurling themselves against their cages; the

  cats, provoked by the dogs, screeching, hissing,

  backs arched, fur standing on end. The guard was

  perplexed and frightened; anchoring himself to the

  chair in his sanctuary of wire mesh, he poured more

  whisky down his throat. He stared at the cages, his

  eyes wide within the folds of puffed flesh. Twice he

  looked at a glass-encased lever on the wall inches

  above the desk, above his hand. He had only to lift

  the casing and pull it.

  "Rheine/ Nachste Station, Rheine!"

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 529

  The last stop before Osnabruck. Before long the

  German would revive, and unless Joel's eyes were on

  him at that instant the man would scream and an

  emergency lever would be pulled. Too, there was

  another man only cars behind who was also hired to

  follow him, to kill him. To remain where he was any

  longer was to let the trap close. He had to get off.

  The train stopped, and Converse lunged for the

  door, his movement causing a dozen caged animals to

  vent their anger and confusion. He pushed back the

  bolt, opened the heavy door and raced into the

  forward car. He ran up the aisle a priest perhaps on

  an errand of mercy repeatedly apologizing as he

  rushed past the departing passengers, intent only on

  getting off before an unconscious body was found, a

  lever pulled, an alarm sounded. He reached the exit

  and leaped from the second step to the platform; he

  looked around and ran into the shadows of the

  station.

  He was free. He was alive. But he was miles away

  from an old woman waiting for her priest.

  31

  Valerie kept running, afraid to look behind, but

  when she forced herself to turn her head she saw the

  Army officer ing with the driver of the Army car.

  Seconds later she looked again as she reached the

  corner of Madison Avenue. The officer was now

  running after her, shortening the distance between

  them with each stride. She raced across the street just

  as the light turned, and the blaring of horns signified

  the anger of several drivers.

  Thirty feet away a taxi heading north had pulled

  to the curb and a gray-haired man was lethargically

  stretching himself out onto the pavement, tired,

  unwilling to accept the morning. Val ran back into

  the street, into the traffic, and raced to the cab's

  door; she opened it and climbed in as the startled

  gray-haired man was receiving change.

  "Hey, lady, you crazy?" yelled the black driver.

  "You're supposed to use the curb! You'll get

  flattened by a bus!"

  "I'm sorry!" cried Val, sinking low and back on the

  seat.

  530 ROBERT LUDLUM

  What the hell? "My husband is running up the street

  after me and I win not be hit again! I hurt.

  He's he's an Arrny officer."

  The gray-haired man sprang out of the cab like

  a decathalon contender, slamming the door behind

  him. The taxi driver turned around and looked at

  her, his large black face suspicious. "You tellin' the

  truth?"

  "I threw up all morning from the punches last

  night."

  "An officer? In the Army?"

  "Yes! Will you please get out of here?" Val sank

  lower. "He's at the corner now! He'll cross the

  street he'll see mel"

  "Fret not, ma'am," said the driver, calmly

  reaching over the seat and pressing down the locks

  on the rear doors. "Oh, you were right on! Here he

  comes runnin' across like a crazy man. And would

  you look at them ribbons! Would you believe that

  horseshit excuse me, ma'am. He's kinda skinny,

  ain't he? Most of the real bad characters were

  skinny. They compensated that's a psychiatric

  term, you know."

  "Get out of here!"

  "The law's precise, ma'am. It's the duty of every

  driver of a medallion vehicle to protect the

  well-being of his fare. . . . And I was an infantry

  grunt, ma'am, and I've waited a hell of a long time

  for this particular opportunity. Having a real good

  reason and all that. I mean, you sure can't deny the

  words you said to me." The driver climbed out of

  the cab. He matched his face; he was a very large

  man, indeed. Val watched in horrified astonishment

  as the black walked around the hood to the curb

  and shouted, "Hey, Captain! Over here, on the

  sidewalk! You lookin' for a very pretty lady? Like

  maybe your wife?"

  "What?" The officer ran up on the pavement to

  the black man.

  "Well, Captain-baby, I'm afraid I can't salute

  'cause my uniform's in the attic if I had an

  attic but I want you to know that this

  search-and-destroy has successfully been completed.

  Would you step over to my jeep, sir?"

  The officer started to run toward the taxi but

  was suddenly grabbed by the driver, who spun him

  around and punched him first in the stomach, then

  brought his knee crashing up into the Army man's

  groin, and finally completed the "assignment" by

  hammering a huge fist into the officer's mouth. Val

  gasped; blood spread over the captain's entire face

  as he fell to the pavement. The driver ran back to

  the cab,

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 531

  climbed in, shut the door and pulled the gear; the

  taxi shot forward in the traffic.

  'Lawdy, lawdy!" said the driver in a caricature of

  Southern dialect. "That felt real good! Is there an

  address, ma'am? The meter's running. '

  "I . . . I'm not sure."

  "Let's start with the basics. Where do you want to

  go?"

  "To a telephone . . . Why did you do that?"

  "That's my business, not yours."

  "You're sick! You could have been arrested!"

  "For what? Protecting a fare from assault? That

  bad character was actually rennin' toward my cab

  and the vibes were not good, not good at all. Also,

  there weren't no cops around."

  "I presume you were in Vietnam," said Vial, after

  a period of silence, looking at the large head of

  black hair in front of her.

  "Oh, yes, I was accorded that privilege. Very

  scenic, ma'am."

  "What did you think of General Delavane?

  General George Marcus Delavane?"

  The cab suddenly, violently, swerved as the

  driver gripped the wheel and slammed his heavy foot

  on the brake, causing the taxi to bolt to a stop,

  throwing Val against the rim of the front seat. The

  large black head whipped around, the coal-black eyes

  filled with fury and loathing and that deep un-

  mistakable core of fear Valerie had seen so many

  times in Joel's eyes. The driver swallowed, his

  piercing stare somehow losing strength, turning

  inward, the fear taking over. He turned back to the

  wheel and answered simply,
"I didn't do much

  thinking about the General ma'am. What's the

  address missus? The meter's running."

  "I don't know.... A telephone, I have to get to a

  telephone. Will you wait?"

  "Do you have money? Or did the captain take it

  all? There are limits to my concern, lady. I don't get

  no compensation for good deeds."

  "I have money. You'll be well paid."

  "Show me a bill "

  Valerie reached into her purse and pulled out a

  hundred dollars. "Will that do?" she asked.

  "It's fine, but don't do that with every cab you

  want in a hurry. You could end up in Bed-Stuy a

  damn good-lookin' corpse."

  532 ROBERT IUDLUM

  "I don't want to believe that."

  'Oh, my, we have a liberal! Suck to it, ma'am,

  until they stick it to you. Me, I want 'em all toiry!

  Your kind don't really get it we do. You only get

  the periphery, you dig? A couple of rapes in the

  classy suburbs and some of them might be open to

  dispute; and a few heists of silver and jewelry hell,

  you're covered by insurance! Where I come from

  we're covered by a gun under the pillow, and God

  help the son of a bitch who tries to take it from

  me.''

  'A telephone, please. '

  "Your meter, lady."

  They stopped at a booth on the corner of

  Madison and Seventy-eighth Street. Valerie got out,

  and took from her purse the sheet~of St. Regis

  stationery with the Air Force telephone number. She

  inserted a coin and dialed.