Robert Ludlum - Aquatain Progression.txt

by The Aquitaine Progression [lit]

paper arrived, and even more childishly planing the

  martyr as his wife went off to the slopes. When she

  had suggested that she really did not care to go

  without him, it was worse. He had charged her with

  trying to be some kind of saint. He would be

  perfectly fine he had things to read, which artists

  would not understand. Reading, that was.

  Oh, what a little boy he had been, thought Val.

  But during the nights it was so different, he was so

  different. He became the man again, loving and

  tender, at once the generous lion and the sensitive

  lamb. They made love, it seemed, for hours on end,

  the moonlight on the snow outside, finally the hint

  of the sun's earliest rays on the mountains until they

  fell together into exhausted sleep.

  On their last day before heading back to Geneva

  for the night flight to New York, she had surprised

  him. Instead of going out for a few final hours of

  skiing, she had gone downstairs at the hotel and

  bought him a sweater, to which she sewed a large

  patch on the sleeve. It read: DOWNHILL

  RACER CHAMONIX. She had presented it to

  him while a porter waited outside the door with a

  wheelchair she had made arrangements through

  the influential manager of the hotel. They were

  taken to the confer of Chamonix, to the cable car

  that scaled thirteen thousand feet to the top of

  Mont Blanc through the clouds to the top of the

  world, it seemed. When they reached the final apex,

  where the view was breathtaking, Joel had turned to

  her, with that silly, oblique look in his eyes that

  belied everything he was and everything

  THE AQUITAINE

  PROGRESSION 571

  ..ehad been through again, as always, his way of

  thanking

  'Enough of this foolish scenery," he had said.

  "Take off our clothes. It's not really that cold."

  They had hot coffee, sitting on a bench outside,

  the magificence of nature all around them. They held

  hands, and ,hrist! She had felt such love that she had

  to hold back the ears.

  She felt the love now and got out of the chair,

  rejecting he intrusion of emotion. It was the wrong

  time. Whatever .larity of mind she could summon was

  needed now. She had o travel halfway across the

  world avoiding God knew how nany people who were

  looking for her.

  He had said he loved her "so much." Was it love

  or was t need . . . support? She had replied with the

  words "my daring" no, she had said more than that;

  she had been far more Specific.. She had said "my

  only darling." Was it a response corn of the panic?

  Not knowing was the worst of it, thought

  Converse, tudying the road signs in the wash of the

  headlights. He had Steen driving for nearly seven

  hours after picking up a map in the city of Hagen

  while refilling the tank seven hours, and according

  to the map he was still a long way from the border

  crossing he had chosen. The reason lay in his

  ignorance, in not knowing whether Hermione

  Geyner's car had been the object of a search in the

  first few hours out of Osnabruck. It undoubtedly was

  now officially by the police but during those sarly

  hours he could have made better time on the

  highways he dared not use in case Aquitaine had

  raced to Geyner's house with Val's call. He had

  traveled circuitous backcountry ~roads, his pilot's

  eye on the sun, veering always south until he reached

  Hagen. Now the back roads were a necessity;

  whether they were before he would never know.

  Now, however, Hermione Geyner and her band of

  lunatics must have gone to the police to report her

  stolen car. Joel had no idea what they could possibly

  say that would convince the Polizei that Valerie's

  aunt was an injured party, but a stolen car was a

  stolen car, whether driven by Saint Francis of Assisi

  or Jack the Ripper. He would stay on the back roads.

  Lennestadt to Kreuztal, crossing the Rhine at

  Bendorf and following the west bank of the river

  through Koblenz, Oberwesel, and Bingen, then south

  to Neustadt and east to

  572 ROBERT IUDLUM

  Speyerand the Rhine again. And again south

  through the bor der towns of Alsace-Lorraine, finally

  to the city of Kehl. It we' where he would cross into

  France, a decision based on the fact that several

  years agoJohn Brooks had sent him to Strasbourg

  the French city across the river border, to a terribly

  dull con ference at which eight lawyers argued so

  continuously wit! each other over minor aspects of

  language and translation that nothing of substance

  was accomplished. As a result, Joe had walked the

  city and driven out to the countryside, awec by its

  beauty. He had taken several boat trips up and down

  the Rhine, and now he remembered the ferries that

  shuttle: back and forth between the piers of

  Germany and France Above all, he remembered the

  crowds in Strasbourg. Always the crowds had helped

  him he needed them especially now

  It would take another three to four hours of

  driving, but somewhere he would have to stop and

  sleep for a while. He was exhausted; he had not

  slept for so long he could not accu rately remember

  when he had last closed his eyes. But there was

  Chamonix and Val ahead. He had told her he loved

  her he had said it. He had gotten it out after so

  many years: the relief was incredible, but the

  response even more incredi" ble. "My darling my

  only darling." Did she mean it? Or was she

  supporting him again, the artist's emotions riding

  over reason and experience?

  Aquitaine! Push everything out of your mind and

  get into Francet

  The polar flight from Los Angeles to Paris was

  uneventful, the moonscapes of ice over the

  northernmost regions of, the world hypnotically

  peaceful, suspending thought by the sheer expanse

  of their cold infinity. Nothing seemed to matter to

  Val as she looked down from the substratosphere.

  But what' ever tranquility the flight produced, it

  came to an end in Paris.

  "Are you in France on business or on holiday,

  madame?" asked the immigration official, taking

  Valerie's passport and typing her name into the

  computer.

  "En pen de l'un et de l'autre."

  "Vous parley franpais?"

  "C'est ma lance preferee. Mes parentsetaient

  parisiens, " explained Val, and continued in French,

  "I'm an artist and I'll be talking with several

  galleries. Naturally, I'll want to travel " She

  stopped, seeing the ofllcial's eyes glance up

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 573

  from his screen, studying her. "Is anything the

  matter? ' she asked.

  "Nothing of concern, madame," said the man,

  picking up his telephone and talking in a low voice,

  the words indishnguishable in the hum of the
huge

  customs hall. "There is someone who wishes to speak

  with you."

  "That's of considerable concern to me, " objected

  Valerie frightened. "I'm not travelingunder my own

  name for a very good reason which I suspect that

  machine of yours has told you, and I will not be

  subjected to interrogations or the indignity of the

  press! I've said all I have to say. Please reach the

  American embassy for me."

  ' There is no need for that, madame," said the

  man, replacing the phone. "It is not an interrogation

  and no one of the press will know you are in Paris

  unless you tell them. Also there is nothing in this

  machine but the name on your passport and a

  request."

  A second uniformed official hurriedly entered the

  roped-offaisle from a nearby office. He bowed

  politely. "If you will come with me, madame," he said

  quietly in English, obviously noticing the fear in her

  eyes and assuming her reluctance. "You may, of

  course, refuse, as this is in no way official but I hope

  you will not. It is a favor between old friends."

  "Who are you?"

  "Chief inspector of immigrations, madame."

  "And who wishes to speak with me?"

  "It would be up to him to tell you that his name

  does not appear on the request. However, I'm to

  give you another name. Mathlon. He says you two

  were old friends and he respected him a great deal."

  "Mamlon?"

  "If you will be so kind as to wait in my office, I

  will personally clear your luggage."

  "This is my luggage," said Val, her thoughts on

  someone who would bring up Rene's name. "I'll want

  a police officer nearby, one who can watch through

  a glass door."

  "PourquoiP. . . Why, madame?"

  "One mesure de surety, " replied Valerie.

  "Out, bier sur, mais ce n'est pas necessaire."

  '7'insiste ou je pars. "

  "D'accord. "

  It was explained that the person who wished to

  speak with her was driving out to De Gaulle Airport

  from the center

  574 ROBERT LUDLUM

  of Paris; it would take thirty-five minutes. Waiting,

  she had coffee and a small glass of Calvados. The

  man walked through the door. Of late middle age,

  he was dressed in rumpled clothing, as if his

  appearance did not matter any longer. His face

  seemed lined as much from weariness as from age,

  and when he spoke his voice was tired but

  nevertheless precise.

  "I will keep you but a few minutes, madame. I'm

  sure you have places to go, people to see."

  "As I explained," said Val, looking hard at the

  Frenchman, "I'm in Paris to talk with several

  galleries "

  "That is no concern of mine," interrupted the

  man, holding up his hands. "Forgive me, I do not

  care to hear. I care to hear nothing unless madame

  wishes to speak after I've spoken to her."

  - "Why did you use the name of Mattilon?"

  "An introduction. You were friends. May I go

  back before Monsieur Mattilon?"

  "Go back by all means."

  "My name is Prudhomme. I am with the Surete.

  A man died in a hospital here in Paris several weeks

  ago. It is said your former husband, Monsieur

  Converse, was responsible."

  "I'm aware of that."

  "It was not possible," said the Frenchman calmly,

  sitting down and taking out a cigarette. "Have no

  fear, this office is not 'tapped' or 'bugged.' The chief

  inspector and I go back to the Resistance."

  "That man died after a brutal fight with my

  former husband," said Val cautiously. "I read it in

  the newspapers, heard it on the radio. Yet you're

  telling me he wasn't responsible for his death. How

  can you say that?"

  "The man did not die in the hospital, he was

  killed. Between two-fifteen and two-forty-five in the

  morning. Your husband was on a flight from

  Copenhagen to Hamburg during those hours. It has

  been established."

  "You know this),"

  "Not officially, madame. I was removed from the

  case. A subordinate, a man with little police

  experience but with the Army later in the Foreign

  Legion, no less was given the assignment while I

  was shifted to more 'important' matters. I asked

  questions; I will not bore you with details, but the

  man's lungs collapsed a sudden trauma unrelated

  to his wounds. The man was suffocated. It was not

  in the report. It was removed."

  576 ROBERT LUDLUM

  "I gather that. It's Stone."

  "Mah wand, the Tatiana re-route!" exclaimed the

  Southerner. "Someday you must tell me about this

  here fascinatin' family of yours, Brer Rabbit."

  ' Someday I will."

  "I seem to recollect having heard the name

  somewheres around the late sixties, but I didn't

  know what it meant."

  "Trust whoever used it."

  "Why should I do that?"

  ' Because whoever it was was trusted by the

  hangingest judges in the world."

  "Who might that be?"

  "The enemy, Rebel."

  "If that's a parable, Yankee, you lost me."

  "Someday, Johnny, not now. What have you got?"

  "Well, let me tell you, I saw the damnedest little

  island over here you ever did see. It's not twenty

  miles off the coast near the mouth of the Elbe, right

  where it's supposed to be. In the Heligoland Bight,

  they call it, which is a section of the North Sea."

  "Scharhorn," said Stone, making a statement.

  "You found it."

  "It wasn't tough to find everybody seems to

  know about it but nobody goes near a certain

  southwest shoreline. It used to be a U-boat

  refueling station in World War Two. The security

  was so tight most of the German High Command

  didn't know about it, and the Allies never got a

  clue. The old concrete-and-steel structures are still

  there, and it's supposed to be deserted except for a

  couple of caretakers, who, I'm told wouldn't pick

  you out of the water if your boat crashed into one

  of the old submarine winches." Johnny Reb paused,

  then continued softly, "I went out there last night

  and saw lights, too many lights in too many places.

  There are people out there on that old base, not

  just a couple of watchmen, and you can bet a

  Yankee pot roast your lieutenant commander is one

  of them. Also around two o'clock in the morning

  after the lights went out, the tallest mother-lovin'

  antenna this side of Houston slid up like a bionic

  cornstalk, but there was no corn on the top. Instead,

  it bloomed like a regular sunflower. It was a disk,

  the kind they use for satellite transmissions.... You

  want me to mount a team? I can do it; there's a lot

  of unemployment these days. Also the cost will be

  minimal, because the more I think about it, the

  more I appreciate your swinging

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 575


  Valerie controlled herself, keeping her voice cool

  and distant despite her anxiety. 'Now," she said,

  "what about Mattilon? My friend, Mattilon. '

  "Fingerprints," replied the Frenchman wearily.

  "They suddenly are discovered twelve hours after the

  arrondissement police who are very good have

  examined that office. And yet there was a death in

  Wesel, West Germany, within the rising and the

  setting of the same sun. Your former husband's

  countenance was described, his identity all but con-

  firmed. And an old woman on a train to

  Amsterdam the same routing who is found with a

  gun in her hand again a description given. Has this

  Converse wings? Does he fly unobserved over

  borders by himself? Again it is not possible."

  "What are you trying to tell me, Monsieur

  Prudhomme?"

  The man from the Surete inhaled on his cigarette

  as he tore off a page from his note pad and wrote

  something on it. "I'm not certain, madame, since I

  am no longer officially leged in these matters. But if

  your former husband did not cause the man in Paris

  to die and could not have shot your old friend

  Monsieur Mattilon, how many others did he not kill,

  including the American ambassador in Bonn and the

  supreme commander of NATO? And who are these

  people who can tell government sources to confirm

  this and confirm that, to change assignments of

  senior police personnel at will, to alter medical

  reports removing suppressing evidence? There are

  things I do not understand, madame, but I am cer-

  tain those are the very things I am not meant to