between buildings 2 and 3, counting from the right.
It was a connecting cement path with gradually rising
steps on the left. He reached the open space and
stood up.
Suddenly he snapped his fingers once not very
loud but loud enough. Everyone froze where he was
under the field of intersecting alarm beams.
Converse turned his head on the ground to try to see
what was happening. The German was crouched in
the shadows as a man came into view, a guard with
a rifle slung over his shoulder. Aware of another
presence, the guard whipped his head around; the
German lunged out of the shadows, his long-bladed
knife arcing in midair toward the man's head. Joel
closed his eyes, the sound of savagely expunged air
telling him more than he cared to know.
The movement began again, and again, one by
one, each member of the unit reached the path.
Converse was soaked with sweat. He looked at the
row of U-boat slips ahead and the sea beyond them
and wished to God he could fall into the water. The
Rebel touched his elbow, indicating that Joel should
take out his gun as the Southerner had done. It was
now Johnny Reb who took the lead; he crept out to
the front of building 2 and turned right, crouching
close to the ground, heading toward the lighted
windows. His fingers snapped; all movement stopped,
bodies now prone. Diagonally to the left, by the edge
of a giant slip were the glow of cigarettes and the
sound of men talking quietly three men, guards
with rifles.
As if they had been given an order, three of the
five men hired by the Rebel which ones Converse
could not tell broke away and started crawling in a
wide arc toward
686 ROBERT LUDIUM
the opposite side of the old U-boat berth.
Approximately a minute and a half later the
longest ninety secondsJoel could remember a
barrage of muted reports punctured the night
breezes off the sea. The subsequent sounds were
minimal as hands clutched at heads and bodies
snapped before falling to the concrete ground. The
hired guns returned and Johnny Reb waved them
forward, with Converse forced to be the last as men
grabbed his shoulders and passed him. They
reached the only lighted window in building 2; the
Rebel stood up and inched his way to the glass. He
turned and shook his head; the unit proceeded.
They came to the open space between buildings
1 and 2. Cautiously each man ran across, crouching
the instant he reached the opposite edge and then
racing ahead. It was Joel's turn; he got to his knees,
then to his feet.
"Horst? Bist das au?" said a man harshly, walking
out of a door and up the cement path.
Converse stood motionless. The rest of the unit
was well past the edge of building 1 as the sounds
of the North Sea crashing on the rocks in the
distance blocked out the intruder's voice. Joel tried
not to panic. He was alone, and if he panicked, he
could blow the operation apart, destroy the complex
at Scharhorn, killing everyone, including Connal
Fitzpatrick, if, indeed, the young commander was
there.
"Ja, " he heard himself saying as he turned away
into the shadows, his right hand reaching across his
waist for the hunting knife. He could not trust his
gun in the darkness
"Warten Sie einen Augen/,lick! Sin sind nicht Horst'"
Joel shrugged, and waited. The footsteps
approached, a hand grabbed his shoulder. He spun
around, gripping the handle of the knife with such
force that it nearly blocked out the terrible thing his
mind told him he had to do. He grabbed the man's
hair and brought the razor-sharp blade across the
throat.
Wanting to vomit, he pulled the man into the
darker shadows; the head was all but severed from
the body. He raced across the open space and
caught up with the others No one had missed him;
each man was taking his turn peering into one of
the four lighted windows in a row. Johnny Reb was
beyond the first, successively pointing in different
directions firmly, rapidly, and each man, after a
crisp nod, ducked away. An assault was about to be
immediately executed. Converse raised himself to
the edge of the last window and looked in
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 687
side. Instantly he understood why the Rebel had to
act quickly. There were ten guards in what could only
be described as paramilitary uniforms belonging to
no recognisable army. Each was either strapping on
a weapon, looking at his watch or crushing out a
cigarette. Then, more ominously, they checked the
ammunition clips in their rifles and automatics.
Several laughed, raising their voices as if making
demands at the expense of the others. Joel could not
understand the words. He moved away from the
window and confronted Johnny Reb, who was close
to the ground.
'It's a patrol going out, isn't it?" whispered Converse.
"No, son," replied the Southerner. ' It s a firing
squad. They just got their orders."
"My God!''
"We follow them, staying low and out of sight.
You may find your old buddy Fitzpatrick, after all."
The next minutes were straight out of Kafka,
thought Joel. The ten men lined up and walked out
the door leading to building 2. Suddenly floodlights
blazed throughout the parade ground, the trip lights
obviously turned off as the squad walked out on the
concrete. Two men with automatics in their hands
ran to building 4; they unlocked and then unbolted
the heavy door, and raced inside shouting orders as
lights were turned on.
"Alles auistehen! 'Raus! Mach schnell! Schnell!"
Seconds later, gaunt, manacled figures began
straggling out in their ragged clothes, blinking at the
harsh lights, some barely able to walk and supported
by others who were stronger. Ten, twenty,
twenty-five, thirty-two, forty. . . forty-three.
Forty-three prisoners of Aquitaine about to be
executed! They were marched toward the concrete
wall fronting the platform at the far end of the
parade ground.
It happened with the hysterical force of a crowd
gone mad! The condemned men suddenly bolted in
all directions, those nearest the two guards with the
automatics crashing the chains of their manacled
hands into the stunned faces. Shots rang out, three
prisoners fell and writhed on the ground. The firing
squad raised their rifles.
"Now, you mother-lovin' catfish hunters!" shouted
Johnny Reb as the entire Scharhorn unit raced into
the melee, pistols firing, muted spits mingling with
the ear-shattenng explosions of the unsilenced
weapons.
It was over in less than twenty seconds. The te
n men
of
688 ROBERT LUDLUM
Aquitaine lay on the ground. Six were dead, three
wounded, one on his knees trembling with fear. Two
men of the Scharhorn unit sustained minor
wounds the American pilot and one other.
"Connal!" roared Joel, racing about the scattered
prisoners, relieved that most were moving.
"Fitzpatrick! Where the hell are you? '
'Over here, Lieutenant," said a weak voice on
Converse's right. Joel threaded his way through the
fallen bodies and knelt down beside the frail,
bearded Navy lawyer. "You took your sweet time
getting here,' continued the commander. "But then
junior-grade officers usually have deficiencies."
"What happened back there?' asked Converse.
"You could all have been killed!
'That was the point, wasn t it? It was made clear
to us last night, so we figured what the hell?'
"But why you? Why all of you?
'We talked and we couldn t figure it out. Except
one thing we were all senior officers on thirty- to
forty-day leaves, most of them summer leaves. What
did it mean? '
"It was meant to throw people off if they began
to see a pattern. There are ninety-seven men out in
hit teams all on summer leaves. Numerically you
were nearly fifty percent of that number,
presumably above suspicion. You were a bonus and
it saved your life."
Suddenly Connal whipped his head to the left.
A man was running out of building 5, racing down
the concrete path "That's the warden! 'shouted
Fitzpatrick as loud as he could "Stop him! If he gets
into the second barracks he ll blow the whole place
up!
Joel got to his feet and, gun in hand, started
after the racing figure as fast as his painful legs
would carry him. The man had reached the
midpoint of building 3; he had less than thirty yards
to go to the door of 2. Converse fired, the bullet
was way off its mark, ricocheting off a steel window
frame. The man reached the door, smashed it open
and slammed it shut Joel raced to it and crashed the
full weight of his body into the heavy wood. It gave
way, swinging violently back into the wall. The man
was running to a metal-encased panel, Converse
fired wildly, frantically, again and again. The man
spun wounded in the legs, but he had opened the
panel. He reached up for a bank of switches. Joel
lunged, gripping the man s hand, smashing his head
against the stone floor.
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 689
Gasping for breath, Converse crawled away from
the man, his hands covered with warm blood, his
empty pistol on the floor. One of the Scharhorn team
burst through the door. "Are you fine?" he asked in
an accent Joel could not place.
"Splendid," said Converse, feeling weak and sick.
The hired gun walked past Joel and glanced at
the still figure on the floor on his way to the open
panel. He studied it and reached into his pocket for
some kind of small, multifaceted tool. In seconds he
was taking out screws and pulling off the interior
metal plating. Moments later, with another part of
the instrument he was cutting wires far back into
their receptacles, leaving nothing but stubs of copper.
"You are not to worry," said the man, finished. "I
am best of Norwegian demolitions. Now we do not
concern ourselves that a stray pig can do damage.
Come, there is much work left to do." The team
member stopped and stood above Converse. "We
owe you our lives. We will pay."
"It's not necessary," said Joel, getting up.
"It is the custom," replied the man, heading for the
door.
Out on the parade ground, Aquitaine's prisoners
were sitting up against the wall all but five, whose
bodies were covered with sheets. Converse went over
to Fitzpatrick.
"We lost them," said the naval officer, with no
strength in his voice.
"Look to the things you believe in, Connal," said
Joel. "It may sound banal, but it's the only thing I
can think of to say."
"It's good enough." Fitzpatrick looked up, a wan
smile on his lips. "Thanks for reminding me. Go on.
They need you over there."
"Larson!" shouted Johnny Reb, standing above
the trembling unhurt guard. "Get in here!"
The professorial Englishman walked hesitantly
through the steel door at the base of the airstrip into
the floodlights. He came over to the Rebel, his eyes
wandering about the parade ground, his expression
one of consternation and awe. "Good Cod!" he
uttered.
"I guess that says it," said the Southerner as two
members of the Scharhorn team came running out of
building 5. "What'd you find ?" yelled Johnny Reb.
"Seven others!" shouted one of the men. "They're
in a toilet, which is suitable to their conditions!"
"I say!" said Ceoffrey Larson, raising his voice.
"Would any by chance be the computer chap?"
690 ROBERT LUDLUM
"We did not ask!"
"Go ask!" ordered the Rebel. "Time's run out!"
He turned to Converse. 'I've been in touch with
your lady. The word out of Israel and Rome is
downright awful some of the hit teams eluded
Stone's men. The demonstrations began an hour
ago, and already twelve government people have
been killed. In Jerusalem and Tel Aviv they're
screaming for Abrahms to take over. In Rome the
police can't handle the riots and the panic; the
Army's moved in."
Joel felt the sharp, hollow pain in his lower
chest and for the first time noticed the early light in
the sky beyond the walls. The day had come, and so
had the killing. Everywhere. "Oh, Jesus, " he said.
"The computer, boy!" roared Johnny Reb, his
pistol jammed into the temple of the guard beneath
him. "You don't have any choices left, catfish!"
"Baracke pier!"
"Danke! It's in building four. Come on, Brit, let's
go! Move!"
The enormous, glistening machine covering the
length of the fifteen-foot wall stood in an air-filtered
room. With Joel's note pad in front of him, Larson
spent nine agonising minutes studying it, turning
dials, punching the keyboard and flipping switches
on the console. Finally he announced "There's a
lock on the inner reels. They can't be released
without an access code."
"What in goddamned catfish hell are you talkie'
about!" screamed the Rebel.
"There's a predesigned set of symbols that when
inserted releases the springs that permit the locked
reels to be activated. It's why I asked if there was a
computer man about."
Johnny Reb's radio hummed, and Converse
ripped it off the Southerner's Velcroed chest.
"Cal?"
"Darling! You're all right?"
"Yes. What's happe
ning?"
"Radio-France. Bombs set off in the Elysee
Palace. Two deputies were shot riding to the dawn
rallies. The government's calling in the armed
forces."
"Christ! Out!"
A man was brought into the room by two
members of the Scharhorn team, who were gripping
him by the arms. "He did not care to admit his
function," said the hired gun on the
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 691
left. "But when all were against the wall, the others
were not so secretive."
The Rebel went to the man and grabbed him by
the throat, but Joel, with the hunting knife in his
hand, rushed forward, pushing the Southerner aside.
"I've been through a lot because of you bastards,"
he said, raising the bloodstained blade to the man s
nose. "And now it's the end!" He shoved the point
into the man's nostrils; the computer expert
screamed as blood erupted and streamed down.
Then Converse raised the blade again, the point now
in the corner of the man's right eye. "The codes, or
it goes inl" he roared.
"Zwei Bins, null, elf!" Again the technician screamed.
"Process it!" yelled Joel.
"They'refree!" said the Englishman.
"Now the symbols!' cried Converse, shoving the
man back into the hands of the Scharhorn invaders.
They all looked in astonishment at the green
letters on the black television screen. Name after
name, rank after rank, position after position. Larson
had punched the printout button, and the curling,
continuous sheet of paper spewed out with hundreds
Robert Ludlum - Aquatain Progression.txt Page 107
