Robert Ludlum - Aquatain Progression.txt

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by The Aquitaine Progression [lit]


  is instant protection and for all of us to be taken

  seriously. Not as psychopaths or as cranks or as

  people with mental aberrations or diminished

  capacities I think those were his words."

  "Aren't they nice? What in the name of sweet

  Jesus do they mean? How?"

  "With formal legal documents. Responsible men

  setting forth what they know and, in the case of

  depositions, under qualified examination. Through

  the courts, Colonel. A court it only takes one, only

  one judge. On the basis of the affidavits a petition is

  made to the court a court, a judge that protection

  be given under seal."

  "Under what?"

  "Under seal. It's completely confidential no

  press, no divulging of information, simply an order

  from the court transmitted to the authorities most

  suited to carry out the order. In this case, all the

  branches of the Secret Service instructed by the court

  to provide extraordinary service."

  "Extraordinary? For whom?"

  "The President of the United States, the

  Vice-President, the Speaker of the House, the

  Secretary of Defense, the Secretary of State right

  on down the line. The law, Colonel. That's what the

  law can do also his words, I think."

  "Jesus/"

  There was a rapping on the door. This time

  Stone covered his automatic with the folded New

  York Times. He got up and admitted a waiter, who

  rolled in a table with a pot of coffee, two cups, a

  bottle of Canadian whisky, ice and glasses. He signed

  the bill and the man left.

  "Coffee or a drink first?" asked Stone.

  "My God, a drink. Please."

  "I envy you."

  "You're not going to join me?"

  "Sorry, I can't. I allow myself one in the evening;

  I'll join you then. You live in Las Vegas, so you'll

  understand. I'm trying to beat the odds, Colonel. I

  intend to beat them. I was fired, remember?" Stone

  brought the Air Force officer a drink and sat down.

  "You can't beat the odds, don't you know that?"

  "I've beaten a few. I'm still here."

  610 ROBERT LUDLUM

  "The courts," said Metcalf, shaking his head. "A

  court! It's an end run. He's using the law to go

  around the flanks of the government people he

  should reach but whom he can't trust. Can it work?"

  "It buys time, a few days perhaps, it's hard to

  tell. 'Under seal' lasts only so long. The law also

  calls for full disclosure. But what's most important

  is that it legitimately tightens the security around

  potential targets, hopefully screwing up whatever

  tactics Aquitaine is mounting, forcing the generals

  to regroup, rethink. Again time."

  "But that's only over here in the States."

  "Yes. That's why Converse wants the time."

  "What for?"

  "He won't tell me, and I'm in no position to

  make demands."

  "I see," said the Colonel, his drink to his lips.

  "You said three rooms. Who are the others?"

  "You'll meet them and you won't like them.

  They're two kids who stumbled into this along with

  a few others I don't know, and they won't say who

  they are. After Halliday reached them or one of

  them they provided the dossiers for Converse.

  They're young, but they're all right, Colonel. If I

  ever had a son, I'd like to think he'd be one of

  them."

  "I have a son and I expect he would be," said

  Metcalf. "Otherwise, I blew it. What are the

  procedures?"

  Stone sat rigidly back in the chair and spoke

  slowly, his voice pitched to the static emphasis of a

  monotone. He was repeating instructions not of his

  own making and certainly not to his liking. "At three

  o'clock this afternoon I'm to call an attorney named

  Simon, Nathan Simon, one of the senior partners of

  Converse's firm here in New York. Presumably by

  then Converse's wife will have reached him, telling

  him to expect a call from me and to please do as I

  ask apparently they believe he will. To be brief

  about it, Simon will come over here to the hotel

  accompanied by a stenographer and take all our

  depositions, along with our credentials, ranks, and

  current responsibilities. He'll stay until he's

  finished."

  "You were right on the phone," interrupted the

  military man. "We're dead."

  "I said as much to Converse and he asked me

  how it felt. He was inquiring, of course, from

  firsthand knowledge."

  "He wants all of you."

  "But not you," said Stone. "He'd like your testimo

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 611

  ny and, by extension, Abbott's but he won't insist

  on it. He knows he can't ask you to walk in on this."

  '1 walked in when that plane went down. Also

  there's something else. If we can't stop Delavane and

  his generals, what the hell's left for people like us?.

  . . Converse wouldn't tell you what he was going to

  do?"

  'Not in terms of what he calls the countdown, but

  yes, as far as tomorrow is concerned. He's sending

  over his own affidavit and, he expects, another from

  a man from the Surete who has information showing

  that most of the official reports out of Paris are

  lies.... And we're not dead yet, Colonel. Converse

  made it clear that Nathan Simon was the best

  attorney we could have as long as he believes us."

  'What can a lawyer do?"

  "I asked Converse the same thing, and he gave

  me a strange answer. He said, 'He can use the law,

  because the law isn't men, it's the law.'"

  "That's beyond me," said Metcalf, irritated. "Not

  in a philosophical context but how it applies

  now right goddamned now! . . . Hell, it doesn't

  make any difference we don't make any difference!

  Once those guns go off and the bodies fall in

  Washington and London, Paris or Bonn wher-

  ever they've got the controls and we won't get them

  back. I know that because I know how long so many

  people have wanted someone to take control. Stop

  the carnage, make things safe, piss on the Soviets.

  God help me, there were times I thought that way

  myself."

  "So did 1," said the civilian quietly.

  "We were wrong."

  "I know that. It's why I'm here."

  Metcalf drank, holding the cold glass against his

  warm cheek. "I keep thinking about what Sam said

  to me. 'There's got to be a fist,' he said. 'A master

  list of everyone in this Aquitaine.' He ruled out all

  the obvious places not in a vault, not on

  paper probably electronically programmed, flashed

  on with codes, as his aerial tactics were frequently

  flashed on a screen inside a jet's cockpit. Someplace

  no one would ever think of, away from anything

  official or tied in with anyone remotely military. 'A

  list. There has to be a listI' he kept saying. For a

  pilot, he had a hell of an imagination. I guess it's />
  why he was so good at that tactical stuff at forty

  thousand feet in the air. Come out of the sun where

  they don't expect you,

  612 ROBERT LUDLUM

  or from a dark horizon where the radar can't pick

  you up. He knew it all. He was a tactical genius."

  As Metcalf talked, Stone leaned forward in the

  chair looking intently at the Air Force officer and

  absorbing every word he spoke.

  'Scharhorn," he said, barely above a whisper.

  "It's Sashay horn!"

  The twin-engined Riems 408 circled the private

  airfield at Saint-Gervais, fifteen miles east of

  Chamonix, the amber lights of the two runways

  throwing an orange glow up into the lower night

  sky. Inside, Prudhomme checked the strap of his

  seat belt as the pilot on his left received clearance

  to make his final approach to the north-south strip.

  Mon Dieu, what an incredible day! thought the

  man from the Surete as he glanced at his right hand

  under the spill of the panel lights. The dark bruises

  on his fingers were at least less noticeable than the

  blood that had covered his entire hand only hours

  ago. His would-be executioner had not even

  bothered to conceal his assignment, such was his

  arrogance bred undoubtedly in the Legion

  etrangere! And the sentence of death had been

  delivered right inside the car at the far end of the

  parking area in the Bois de Boulogne! The man had

  called him at the office and, in truth, it had entered

  Prudhomme's mind that this man might call him,

  and so it was less a surprise than it could have

  been and certainly gave him cause to be prepared.

  The man had asked his recent superior to meet him

  at the Bois, in the parking lot he had startling

  news. He would be driving his official Peugeot, and

  since he could not leave his radio phone, would the

  inspector mind joining him. Of course not.

  But there had been no startling news. Only

  questions, asked very arrogantly.

  "Why did you do what you did this morning?"

  "Shave? Go to the toilet? Eat breakfast? Kiss

  my wife good-bye? What are you talking about?"

  "You know what I refer to! Earlier! The man on

  the Boulevard Raspail. You crashed into his car,

  stopping him. You threw narcotics inside. You

  arrested him falselyI"

  "I didn't approve of what he was doing. Any

  more than I approve of this conversation."

  Prudhomme had awkwardly reached for the handle

  of the door with his left hand, his right having other

  business.

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 613

  "Stopl" his former subordinate had shouted,

  grabbing his shoulder. "You were protecting the

  woman!"

  'Read my report. Let me go."

  "I'll let you go to hell! I'm going to kill you,

  meddler! Insignificant bureaucrat!"

  The former subordinate had yanked a gun from

  his jacket holster but he was too late. Prudhomme

  had fired twice the small weapon he gripped under

  his coat. Unfortunately, it was small caliber and the

  ex-colonel of the Legion was a very large man; he

  had lunged at Prudhomme inside the automobile.

  However, the veteran of the Resistance had gone

  back to an old wartime habit just in case: along the

  lapels of his coat was threaded a long wire a wire

  with two braided loops at each end. He had whipped

  it out, and looping it over his would-be executioner's

  head with his wrists crossed, he violently yanked it

  taut until the flesh burst around the throat and blood

  drenched Prudhomme's hands.

  "We're cleared for landing, Inspector,' said the

  pilot, grinning. "I swear to Christ no one would

  believe this! Of course I have no intention of saying

  a thing, I swear on my mother's grave!"

  "She's probably drinking brandy in Montmartre at

  this moment," interjected Prudhomme dryly. 'Say

  nothing, and you may have another six months flying

  in your foolish tobacco from Malta."

  "Nothing else! Never anything else, Inspector. I

  am a father!"

  "You are to be commended. Six months and then

  get out, do you understand?"

  "On my father's grave, I swear!"

  "He's very much alive and in jail he'll be out in

  sixty days. Tell him to stop his presses. Government

  relief checks really. "

  Joel and Valerie listened in silence as the man

  from the SOrete told his story. He was finished now;

  there was nothing left to say. Interpol had been

  compromised, the arrondissement police manipulated,

  the Surete itself corrupted, and official government

  communiques issued on the basis of lies all lies.

  Why?

  "I'll tell you because I want your help much

  more help," said Converse, getting out of the chair

  and going to the

  614 ROBERT LUDIUM

  desk, where the typewritten pages of his affidavit

  were in the center of the green blotter. "Better, you

  can read it yourself but I'm afraid you'll have to

  read it here. In the morning I'll have copies made;

  until then I don't want it to leave this room. By the

  way, Val got you a reservation, a single don't ask

  me how, but a clerk downstairs will have a new

  wardrobe if not a new house by tomorrow."

  "Merci, madame."

  "The name is French," added Joel.

  "Yes."

  "No, I mean the name is French."

  "Out. "

  "No, what I mean is "

  "Pardon, monsieur, " interrupted Valerie. "Le

  nom sur le registry est 'Monsieur French, ' mais

  'French, ' comme en anglais French. A rthur French.

  "

  "But I will have to sign, talk. Surely they will know."

  "You sign nothing and you say nothing," said

  Val, taking a key off the bedside table and handing

  it to Prudhomme.

  The room is paid for three days, to be precise.

  After that before, if possible, if you agree to

  help the three of us will be someplace else."

  "Formidable. I must read."

  "Mon ami mon epoux est an avocat exceptionnel.

  "

  'ye com prends. "

  "There are some forty pages here," said

  Converse, bringing the papers to Prudhomme. "To

  absorb it will take you at least an hour. We'll go

  downstairs and grab a bite to eat and leave you

  alone."

  "Bien. There is much I wish to learn."

  "What about you?" asked Joel, standing over the

  Frenchman. "I mean now. They'll find that body in

  the car."

  "Most certainly," agreed Prudhomme. "I left it

  where it was along with that pig from the Legion.

  But for the Surete there will be no connection to

  me."

  "Fingerprints? The fact that you were away from

  your

  "Another old habit from the war," said the man

  from the Silrete, reaching into his pocket. He pulled

  out a pair of extremely thin rubberised

  gloves surgical gloves
cut off at the wrist. "I

  washed these out at the Bois. The German occu-

  pation forces had all our fingerprints in a thousand

  files. There was no point in asking for our own

  executions. As for my ab

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 615

  settee at my desk, it is quite simple. I explained to an

  assistant that I would be m Calais for several days on

  a contraband investigation and would call in. My

  years permit a certain latitude and Hexibility."

  "That's the Surete, not the others. Not where the

  Legionnaire came from."

  "I am aware of that, monsieur. So I must be

  careful. It vill not be the first time."

  "Enjoy your reading," said Converse, nodding at

  Val to join him. "If you want anything, call room

  service."

  "Bon appetrt," said Prudhomme.

  Chaim Abrahms lifted the stiffening wrist of his

  dead wife's hand, the weapon gripped fiercely in her

  white fingers, and angled the gun toward her chest,

  into the bloody cavern between her breasts.

  The wide, brown eyes would not stay closed.

  They stared up at him, accusing accusing!

  "What do you want from me!" he screamed. '.1

  have seen the dead. I have lived with the dead! Leave

  me be, womanl You couldn't understand!"

  Yet she had, for so many years. She had cooked

 

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