Robert Ludlum - Aquatain Progression.txt

by The Aquitaine Progression [lit]

right front door. Converse watched him from behind

  the thick corner pillar as the wounded German

  stood on the pavement, looking up into the

  shadows.

  "Konig?"he asked softly, questioning. "Konig,

  was ist?" He started up the steps, his left hand

  awkwardly, tentatively, going inside his jacket.

  Joel spun around the pillar and rushed down the

  old stair case. Grabbing the wounded man by the

  sling, he jammed the pistol into the foot soldier's

  throat; he turned him around and rushed him back

  to the car, then crashed his head against the roof as

  he crouched and thrust the weapon through the

  open front window.

  The astonished driver was quicker than the foot

  soldier; he was already yanking his gun out of an

  unseen holster. He fired wildly, shattering the

  windshield. Converse fired back blowing the man's

  head half out of the window.

  Take the bodies into the jungle! Don't leave them

  here near the compound! Every second counts, every

  minute!

  Joel sprang up and pulled the wounded German

  away from the car as he opened the front door.

  "You're going to help me, you good Christian!" he

  whispered, remembering the whining supplication of

  a killer in a freight car. "You do as I tell you or

  you'll join your friends. Capisce, or is it verstehen?

  Whatever the hell it is, you do as I say, do you

  understand me? I'm a panicked man, mister on the

  edge, and I'll argue that position in front of the

  Supreme Court! . . . What the hell am I saying? I've

  got the gun and I've killed again it gets easier

  when you don't want to be killed yourself. Afovel

  That lousy son of Gestapo on the porch! Bring him

  down here! In the backl"

  Perhaps a minute later, Joel would never know

  the time the wounded man was behind the wheel

  driving with diflficulty, the two corpses in the

  backseat. A tableau of horror Converse thought he

  would vomit. Fighting back the nausea, he watched

  every landmark in the countryside as he directed the

  driver to take this turn and that pilotage indeli

  THE QQUITAINE PROGRESSION 567

  left and sped down the country road as Hermione

  Geyner slammed the door shut on the porch.

  There was nothing any longer without risk,

  thought Joel, as he crawled out of the foliage, but

  the risk for him now was one he faced with a degree

  of confidence. Aquitaine had used up Frau Geyner;

  there was nothing more it could learn from her. To

  return to a madwoman held a greater risk for them.

  Envelope in hand, he walked across the ugly drive,

  up the creaking steps, and across the sagging porch

  to the door. He knocked, and ten seconds later a

  screeching Hermione Geyner opened it. He then did

  something so totally unpredictable so completely out

  of character, he did not believe it himself as he

  followed through with the sudden impulse.

  He punched the old woman squarely in the

  center of her lower jaw. It was the beginning of the

  longest eight hours of his life.

  The bewildered security police from the

  MGM-Grand Hotel reluctantly refused Valerie's

  offer of a gratuity, especially as she had raised it

  from $50 to $100, thinking that the economy of Las

  Vegas was somewhat different from New York's and

  certainly Cape Ann's. They had driven around the

  streets of the old and the new city for nearly

  forty-five minutes, until both men, both professionals

  in their work, assured her that no one was following

  their car. And they would put a special patrol on the

  ninth floor in an attempt to catch the man who had

  harassed her, who had attempted to gain entrance to

  the room. They were, of course, naturally chagrined

  that she took a room across the boulevard at Caesars

  Palace.

  Val tipped the bellman, took her small overnight

  bag from him, and closed the door. She ran to the

  phone on the table by the bed.

  "I half to go to the toilet!" shouted Hermione

  Geyner, holding an fee pack under her chin.

  "Again?" asked Converse, his eyes barely open,

  sitting across from the old woman, the envelope and

  the gun in his lap.

  "You make me nervous. You struck me."

  "You did the same and a hell of a lot more to me

  last night," said Joel, getting up from the chair and

  shoving the gun under his belt, the envelope in his

  hand.

  "I vill see you hanging from a rope! Betrayer! How

  many

  568 ROBERT LUDIUM

  hours now? You think our operatives in the

  Untergrund will not miss me?"

  "I think they're probably feeding pigeons in the

  park cooing along with the best of them. Go on, I'll

  follow."

  The telephone rang. Converse grabbed the old

  woman by the back of her neck and propelled her

  to the antique desk and the phone. "Just as we

  practiced," he whispered, holding her firmly. "Do it!"

  'Baja?" said Hermione Geyner into the

  telephone, Joel's ear next to hers.

  "Tame! Ich bin 's, Valerie!"

  "Val!" shouted Converse, pushing the old woman

  away. "It's me! I'm not sure the phone's clean; she

  was set up, I was set up! Quickly! Tell Sam I was

  wrong I think I was wrongl The countdown could

  be assassinations all over the goddamned place!"

  "He knew that!" shouted Valerie in reply. "He's

  dead Joel! He's dead! They killed him!"

  "Oh, Christ! There's no time, Val, no time! The

  phone!"

  "Meet me!" screamed the ex-Mrs. Converse.

  "Where? Tell me where?"

  The pause was less than several seconds, an

  eternity for both. "Where it began, my darling!"

  cried Valerie. "Where it began but not where it

  began.... The clouds, darling! The patch and the

  clouds!"

  Where it began. Geneva. But not Geneva. Clouds,

  a patch. A patch!

  "Yes, I know!"

  "Tomorrow! The next day! I'll be there!"

  "I have to get out of here.... Val ... I love you so

  muchl So much!"

  ''The clouds, my darling my only darling oh,

  God, stay

  Joel ripped the telephone out of the wall as

  Hermione Geyner came rushing at him, swinging a

  heavy brass-handled poker from the fireplace. The

  iron hook glanced off his cheek; he grabbed her

  arm and shouted, "I haven't got time for you, you

  crazy bitch! My client doesn't have time!" He spun

  her around and pushed her forward, picking up the

  envelope from the table. "You were on your way to

  the bathroom, remember?"

  In the hall Converse saw what he had hoped he

  would

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 565

  bly imprinted on the mind for the flight back without

  a radio or a map or a means to obtain either. They

  reached what looked like a series of rocky pastures

  at the base of a mountain, and Converse tol
d the

  Cerman to get off the road. They clambered over

  several hundred yards until there was a sharp decline

  that ended at a dense row of trees. He ordered the

  driver out.

  He had given the last guard a chance. He was a kid

  in a mismatched uniform; his eyes were intense but his

  face raised questions. How much was felt, how much

  indoctrinated? He had given the boy the child a

  simple exam, and a believer had failed the examination.

  "Listen to me," said Joel. "You told me on the

  train that you were hired but that you didn't want to

  kill anybody. You were just unemployed and needed

  a job, is that right?"

  "Yes! I kill no one! I only watched, followed!"

  "All right. I'll put the gun away and I'm going to

  walk out of here. You go wherever you want to go,

  okay?"

  "Ich verstehe! Yes, of course!"

  Converse shoved the weapon in his belt and

  turned, his fingers still gripping the handle as he

  started up the slope. A scratch! The crunching sound

  of rocks displaced by moving feet! He pivoted,

  dropping to his knees as the German lunged.

  He fired once at the body above him. The foot

  soldier screamed as he arced in the air and rolled

  down the hill. A believer had failed the examination.

  Joel walked up the incline with the envelope

  addressed to Nathan Simon and across the rocky

  field to the road. He knew the landmarks; the pilot

  in him would make no mistakes. He knew what he

  had to do.

  He was concealed far back in the bushes on the

  edge of Hermione Geyner's property, thirty yards

  from the decaying house, twenty from the U-shaped

  drive,~which was filled with ruts and bordered by

  brown overgrown grass, dead from the heat and lack

  of water. He had to stay awake, for if it was going to

  happen, it would happen soon. Human nature could

  take only so much anxiety; he had played upon the

  truism too often as a lawyer. Answers had to be

  given to anxious men panicked men. The sun was

  up, the birds foraging in the early light, myriad

  noises replacing the stillness of the night. But the

  house was silent, the large casement windows,

  through which only hours ago the voices of

  demented old women had helped muffle gunshots,

  were closed, many of the panes

  566 ROBERT IUDIUM

  cracked. And through all the madness, the insanity

  of violent events, he still wore the clerical collar,

  still had his priestly passport and the letter of

  pilgrimage. The next few hours would tell him

  whether or not they were of any value.

  The roar of an engine came first and then the

  sight of a black Mercedes swerving off the country

  road into the drive. It sped up to the porch, jolting

  to a stop; two men climbed out and the driver raced

  around the trunk to join his companion. They stood

  for a moment looking up at the porch and the

  windows of the house, then turned and scanned the

  grounds, walking over to Hermione Geyner's car

  and peering inside. The driver nodded and reached

  under his jacket to pull out a gun; they went back to

  the steps, taking them rapidly, heading across the

  porch to the door. Finding no bell, the man without

  a gun in his hand knocked harshly, repeatedly,

  finally pounding with a closed fist while twisting the

  knob to no avail.

  Guttural shouts came from inside as the door

  swung back, revealing an angry Frau Geyner dressed

  in a tattered bathrobe. Her voice was that of a

  shrewish teacher lambasting two students for

  cheating when in fact they had not. Each time one

  of the men tried to speak her voice became even

  more shrill. Cowed, the man with the gun put it

  away, but his companion suddenly grabbed Valerie's

  aunt by the shoulders and spoke harshly, directly,

  forcing her to listen.

  Hermione Geyner did listen, but when she

  replied her answers were equally harsh and

  delivered with authority. She pointed down at the

  overgrown drive and described what she had

  apparently witnessed in the dark, early-morning

  hours what she herself had accomplished. The men

  looked at each other, their eyes questioning and

  afraid, but not questioning what the old woman had

  told them, only what she could not tell them. They

  raced across the porch and down the steps to their

  car. The driver started the engine with a vengeance

  so pronounced the ignition mechanism flew into a

  high-pitched, grinding scream. The Mercedes

  plunged forward, skirting past Frau Geyner's car,

  and in a sudden attempt to avoid a hole in the

  overgrown pavement, the driver swung to his left,

  then to his right, skidding on the surface, the tires

  sliding on the crawling vine weeds until the side of

  the car careened into the disintegrating stone gate.

  Roars of abuse from both men filled the morning

  air as the Mercedes straightened itself out and raced

  through the exit. It swung

  THE AQUlTAINE PROGRESSION 569

  tee in the red lacquered bowl on the wall table, the

  old *Roman had dropped them there last night the

  keys to her car. The bathroom door pulled out it

  was the solution. Once she was inside, Joel dragged

  over a heavy chair from against the wall and jammed

  the thick rim under the knob, kicking the legs in

  place, wedging them into the floor. She heard the

  commotion and tried to open the door; it held. The

  harder she pressed, the more firmly the legs became

  embedded.

  "We convene again tonight!" she roared. "We will

  send out our best people! The best!"

  "God help Eisenhower when you meet," muttered

  Converse, inwardly relieved. If Aquitaine did not

  have the phone covered, the old woman would be

  found in a few hours. The envelope under his arm,

  he took the keys from the lacquered bowl and pulled

  the gun from his belt. He ran to the front door and

  opened it cautiously. There was no one, nothing only

  Hermione Geyner's car parked on the weed-ridden

  drive. He went outside and pulled the door shut,

  leaving it unlocked, and raced down the steps to the

  automobile. He started the engine; there was half a

  tank of gas, enough to get him far away from

  Osnabruck before refilling. Until he could get a map,

  he would go by the sun heading south.

  Valerie made arrangements at the travel office in

  Caesars Palace, paying cash and using her mother's

  maiden name, perhaps hoping some of that

  resourceful woman's wartime expertise might find its

  way to the daughter. There was a 6:00 P.M. Air

  France flight to Paris from Los Angeles. She would

  be on it, the hour's trip to LAX made on a chartered

  plane to which she would be chauffeured, thus

  avoiding the terminal at McCarran Airport. Such

  courtesies were always available,
usually for

  celebrities and casino winners. There was no basic

  problem with a false name on the Air France

  passenger manifest at worst, only embarrassment,

  in her case easily explained: her former husband,

  now a stranger, was an infamous man, a hunted man;

  she preferred anonymity. She would not legally be

  required to produce her passport until she arrived at

  immigration in Paris, and once through, she could

  travel anywhere she wished, under any name she

  gave, for she would not be leaving the borders of

  France. It was why she had thought of Chamonix.

  She sat in the chair, looking out the window,

  thinking of those days in Chamonix. She had flown

  over with Joel to Ge

  570 ROBERT LUDLUM

  neva,where he had three days of conferences with

  the promise of five days off to go skiing at Mont

  Blanc, a bonus from John Brooks, the brilliant

  international negotiator of Talbot, Brooks and

  Simon, who flatly refused to give up some reunion

  dinner for what he termed "lizard-shit meetings

  between idiots our boy can do it. He'll charm their

  asses off while emptying their corporate pockets." It

  was the first time Joel really knew that he was on his

  way, yet oddly enough he was almost as excited

  about the skiing. They both enjoyed it so much. To-

  gether. Perhaps because they were both good.

  ButJoel had not enjoyed the skiing at Chamonix

  that trip. On the second day he had taken a terrible

  fall and sprained his ankle. The swelling was

  enormous, the pain as acute in his head as in his

  foot. She had knighted him "Sir Grump", he

  demanded his Herald Tribune in the morning,

  childishly refusing to have his breakfast before the