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Robert Ludlum - Aquatain Progression.txt

Page 83

by The Aquitaine Progression [lit]


  "Air Force, Recruit Command, Denver,"

  announced the female operator.

  "I wondered if you could help me, miss," said

  Val, her eyes darUng about at the traffic, looking

  for a roving brown sedan with u.s. ARMY printed

  across its doors. "I'm trying to locate an officer, a

  relative, actually . . ."

  "One minute, please. I'll transfer you."

  "Personnel, Denver Units," came a second voice,

  now male. "Sergeant Porter."

  "Sergeant, I'm trying to locate an officer,

  'repeated Valerie. "A relative of mine who left word

  with an aunt that he wanted to reach me."

  "Where in Colorado, ma'am?"

  "Well, I'm not sure."

  "The Springs? The Academy? Lowry Field or

  possibly Cheyenne Mountain?"

  "I don't know that he is in Colorado, Sergeant."

  "Why did you call Denver, then?"

  "You were in the telephone book."

  "I see." The Army man paused. "And this officer

  left word that he wanted to reach you?"

  "Yes."

  "But he didn't leave an address or a telephone

  number."

  "If he did, my aunt lost it. She's quite elderly."

  "The procedure is as follows, miss. If you will

  write a letter to the MPC Military Personnel

  Center at the Randolph Air Force Base, San

  Antonio, Texas, staking your request and the

  officer's name and rank, the letter will be

  processed."

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 533

  "I don't have time, Sergeant! I travel a great

  deal I'm calling from an airport now, as a matter of

  fact."

  "I'm sorry, miss, those are the regulations.'

  "I'm not a 'miss' and my cousin's a general and

  he really does want to speak to me! I just want to

  know where he is, and if you can't tell me, certainly

  you can call him and give him my name. I'll call you

  back with a number where he can reach me. That's

  reasonable, isn't it, Sergeant? Frankly, this is an

  emergency."

  "A general, ma'am?"

  "Yes, Sergeant Potter. A General Abbott."

  "Sam Abbott? I mean, Brigadier General Samuel

  Abbott?"

  "That's the one, Sergeant Potter."

  "Porter, ma'am."

  "I'll remember that."

  "Well, I can't see any security breach here,

  miss ma'am. Everybody knows where General

  Abbott is stationed. He's a popular officer and in the

  newspapers a lot."

  "Where is that, Sergeant? I'll personally tell him

  you've been most helpful to both of us."

  "Nellie Air Force Base in Nevada, ma'am, just

  outside Las Vegas. He commands the advanced

  tactical maneuver squadrons. All the squadron

  commanders get their final training at Nellis. He's

  the man.... May I have your name, please?"

  "Oh, good Lord! There's the last boarding call for

  my plane! Thank you, Sergeant." Valerie hung up the

  phone, her eyes still scanning the street, trying to

  decide what to do whether to call Sam now or wait.

  Suddenly she realized she could not call; it would

  mean using a credit card, origin of call and

  destination listed. She went back to the taxi.

  "Lady, I'd just as soon get out of here, if you

  don't mind," said the driver, a quiet urgency in his

  voice.

  "What's the matter?"

  "I keep a police scanner in my cab in case there's

  problems in my neighborhood, and I just heard the

  word. An Army captain was clobbered on Fifty-fifth

  and Madison by a black driver of a taxi heading

  north. Lucky for me they didn't get the license or the

  company, but the description's pretty good. 'A big

  black son of a bitch with a size-twelve fist' was the

  way those mothers put it."

  "Let's go," said Val. "I hate to say this, and I

  mean that but I can't get involved." The cab sped

  forward, the driver

  534 R03ERT LUDLUM

  turning east on Eightieth Street. "Is my husband

  pressing charges?" she asked.

  "No, I'm off the hook there," replied the driver.

  "He must have punched you real bad. He just fled

  and had nuthin' to say. Bless his white heart. Where

  to?"

  "Let me think."

  "It's your meter."

  She had to get to Las Vegas, but the idea of

  going back to Kennedy or LaGuardia airports

  frightened her. They seemed too logical, too easily

  anticipated. remembered. About five or six years

  ago she and Joel were weekending with friends in

  Short HiDs, New Jersey, when Joel got a call from

  Nathan Simon, teeing him he had to fly to Los

  Angeles on Sunday for a Monday-morning meeting.

  All the legal papers would be sent to the Beverly

  Hills Hotel by air express. Joel had taken the plane

  from Newark Airport.

  "Can you drive me to Newark?"

  "I can drive you to Alaska, lady, but Newark?"

  "The airport."

  "That's better. It's one of the best. I guess

  Newark's okay, too. I got a brother there and, hell,

  he's stiD alive. I'D swing through the park at

  Sixty-fifth and head down to the Lincoln Tunnel. Do

  you mind if I turn on the scanner again?"

  "No, go right ahead."

  The voices went in and out, then the driver

  pushed a button and they became steady: "Incident

  at Fifty-fifth and Madison is a negative.. Precinct

  Ten has called it off as the victim refused assistance

  and did not identify himself. So patrols, onward and

  upward. We helps them what helps themselves. On,

  brothers."

  "Oh, he's a brother!" shouted the driver in relief

  as he turned off the radio. "You catch that 'incident

  is a negative'? They coulda used him in Nam, in

  those big body-count press conferences.... Come to

  think of it, he was probably there not with the

  press, just one of the bodies. They never did get it

  right."

  Valerie leaned forward on the seat. "I asked you

  about Nam. About General Delavane. Would you

  ted me about him?"

  It was nearly a minute before the black replied,

  and when he did so, his voice was soft, even

  mellifluous. And somewhere at the base of it was

  abject defeat. "My driver's identification is lookin' at

  you, lady. I'm drivin' you to Newark Air

  THE AQUITAINE

  PROGRESSION 535

  port thaws what you're payin' for, and that's what

  you'll

  The rest of the ride was made in silence, an

  oppressive sense of fear pervading the cab. After all

  these years, thought Val. Oh, God

  They hit heavy traffic at the tunnel and then on

  the turnpike; it was the start of the weekend and

  vacationers were heading for the Jersey shore. The

  airport was worse; it was jammed, cars backed up for

  a quarter of a mile in the departure lanes. Finally

  they edged up into a parking space and Valerie got

  out. She paid the driver a hundred dollars above the

  fare and thanked him. "You've been much more than


  helpful, you know that.... I'll never really know why

  but I'll think about it."

  "Like I said, it's my business. I got my reasons."

  "I wish I could say something, something that

  could help."

  "Don't try, lady. The green is enough."

  "No, it's not."

  "Sure, it is until something better comes along,

  and that ain't gonna be in my lifetime.... You take

  care, missus. I think you got bigger problems than

  most of us. You said too much, which I don't recall,

  of course."

  Valerie turned and went into the terminal. The

  lines in front of the counters were horrendous, and

  before joining one she had to know which one.

  Twenty minutes later she was in the proper line and

  nearly an hour after that she had a ticket to Las

  Vegas on American's 12:30 flight, another hour

  before boarding. It was time to see if it all made

  sense. If Sam Abbott made sense, or whether she

  was grasping desperately at a man she once

  remembered who might not be that man any longer.

  She had exchanged $20 in bills for two $10 rolls of

  quarters. She hoped it would be enough. She took an

  escalator up to the second floor and went to a

  telephone at the far end of the wide corridor past

  the shops. Nevada information gave her the number

  of the main switchboard at Nellis Air Force Base.

  She dialed and asked to be put through to Brigadier

  General Samuel Abbott.

  "I don't know if he's on the base yet," said the

  operator.

  "Oh?" she had forgotten. There was a three-hour

  time difference.

  "Just a minute, he's checked in. Early-morning

  flight schedule."

  536 ROBERT LUDLUM

  "General Abbott's office."

  'May I speak to the general, please. The name

  is Parquette, Mrs. Virginia Parquette."

  "May I ask what this is in reference to?" asked

  the secretary. "The general's extremely busy and is

  about to head down to the field."

  "I'm a cousin he hasn't seen in a long time,

  actually. There's been a tragedy in the family."

  "Oh, I'm terribly sorry."

  "Please tell him I'm on the line. He may not

  recall my name; it's been so many years. But you

  might remind him that in the old days we had some

  wonderful dinners in New York. It's really most

  urgent. I wish someone else were making this call,

  but I'm afraid I was elected."

  "Yes yes, of course."

  The waiting put Valerie in the last circle of hell.

  Finally there was a click, followed by the voice she

  remembered.

  "Virginia . . . Parquette?"

  "Yes."

  "Ginny from New York? Dinner in New York?"

  "Yes."

  "You're the wife, not the sister."

  "Yes!"

  "Give me a number. I'll call you back in ten

  minutes."

  "It's a pay phone."

  "Stay there. The number."

  She gave it to him and hung up, frightened,

  wondering what she had done, but knowing that she

  could not have done anything else. She sat in the

  plastic chair by the phone, watching the escalators,

  looking at the people going in and out of the

  various shops, the bar, the fast-food restaurant. She

  tried not to look at her watch; twelve minutes

  passed. The phone rang.

  "Yes?"

  "Valerie?"

  "Yes!"

  "I wanted to get out of the office too many

  interruptions. Where are you? I know the area

  code's New Jersey."

  "Newark Airport. I'm on the twelve-thirty flight

  to Las Vegas. I've got to see you!"

  "I tried to call you. Talbot's secretary gave me

  your number "

  "When?"

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 537

  '~Starting two days ago. I was in the Mojave on

  maneuvers and too bushed to turn on a radio we

  didn't have newspapers. A man answered, and when

  he said you weren't there I hung up."

  "That was Roger, Joel's father. He's dead."

  "I know. They say it was most likely suicide."

  "No!. . . I've seen him, Sam. I've seen Joel! It's all

  lies!"

  "That's what we have to talk about," said the

  general. "Call me when you get in. Same name. I

  don't want to pick you up at the airport; too many

  people know me over there. I'll figure out a place

  where we can meet."

  "Thank you, Sam!" said Valerie. "You're all we have

  left."

  "We?"

  "For the time being, yes. I'm all he has left."

  Converse watched from the far dark corner of

  the railroad station as the train for Osnabruck

  started up, its huge wheels pressing into the tracks,

  groaning for momentum. At any moment he

  expected whistles to pierce the quiet night and the

  train to stop, a bewildered half-drunken guard run-

  ning from the freight car, screaming. None of it

  happened. Why? Was the man more than half

  drunk? Had the sounds of the enraged animals

  driven him further into the bottle strengthening his

  resolve to remain in the safety of his cage? Had he

  seen only a blur racing to the door in the dim light,

  or perhaps nothing, an unconscious body

  subsequently not discovered? Then Joel saw that

  there was another possibility a brutal one. He could

  see a figure running forward through the second to

  last car, twice lunging between the seats, his face

  pressed against the glass. Moments later the man was

  leaning out above the lower door of the first exit, the

  steps below blocked off by the heavy solid gate. In

  his hand was a gun, held laterally across his forehead

  as he squinted against the station lights, peering into

  the shadows.

  Suddenly the killer made his decision. He gripped

  the metal rim and leaped over the guardrail,

  dropping to the ground, rolling over in the gravel

  away from the gathering speed of the train. The

  hunter from Aquitaine was in panic he dared not

  lose the quarry, dared not fail to carry out his

  assignment.

  Converse spun around the corner and raced

  along the dark side of the building to a parking area.

  The passengers who had gotten off the train were

  starting their automobiles

  538 ROBERT LUDLUM

  or climbing into them; two couples were chatting on

  the near platform, obviously waiting to be picked

  up. A car came curving in off the road beyond; the

  men waved, and in moments all four were inside,

  laughing as the car sped away. The parking area was

  deserted, the station shut down for the night. A

  single floodlight from the roof illuminated the

  emptiness, a border of tall trees beyond the wide

  expanse of coarse gravel gave the appearance of an

  immense impenetrable wall.

  Staying as best he could in the shadows, Joel

  darted from one space of darkness to another until

  he reached a solid, indented arch at the end of ther />
  building. He pressed his back against the brick and

  waited, his hand gripping the gun at his side,

  wondering if he would have to use it, if he would

  even have a chance to use it. He had been lucky on

  the train and he knew it; he was no match for

  professional killers. And no matter how strongly he

  tried to convince himself, he was not in the jungles

  a lifetime ago, not the younger man he had been

  then. But when he thought about it as he was

  thinking about it now those memories were all he

  had to guide him. He ducked out of the shadowed

  arch and quickly dashed to the corner.

  The explosion came, blowing out the stone to

  the left of his head! He lunged to his right, rolling

  on the gravel, then quickly rose to get away from

  the spill of the floodlight. Three more shattering

  explosions tore up the rock and earth around his

  feet. He reached a dark row of foliage and dove

  into the bushes, instinctively knowing exactly what

  he had to do.

  "Augh!Aughhh . . . !" His final scream ended on

  a convincing note of agony.

  He then crawled through the underbrush as fast

  as he could penetrate the tangled nets of prickly

  green. He was at least ten feet away from where he

 

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