Robert Ludlum - The Parcifal Mosaic.txt

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by The Parcifal Mosaic [lit]


  "Neither of which we can do convincingly because there!s not a damn thing

  we can offer him as proof," said Ogilvie. "Nothing he'll accept. Hes a

  field man. Whatever we send him he'll filter, chew it around for accuracy,

  and spit it back in the horseshit pile. So what do we tell him?"

  "Don't teU him anything' " answered Miller. "You promise

  to tell him. Put it any way you like. The informatiods too

  classified to send by courier, too dangerous to be permitted

  outside these rooms. Play his game, suck him in. Remember,

  he desperately wants-needs, if you like-his primary halluci

  nation confirmed. He saw a dead woman; he has to believe

  that. And the confirmation's over here; it could be irresistible

  to him."

  "Sorry, Headman." The. red-haired former field agent

  THE PAR9WAL M09AIC105

  raised his hands, palms up. "He won't buy it, not that way. His-what did you

  call it? his 'reaht,/ part?-would reject it. Thaes buying a code in a box of

  Cracker Jacks. It just doesn't happen. Hell want something stronger, much

  strongen"

  "Matthias?" asked Dawson quietly.

  "Optimum," agreed the psychiatrist.

  "Not yet," said Stem. "Not until we have no other choice. The quiet word is

  that he!s aware of his failing condition; he's conserving his strength for

  SALT Three. We =1 lay this on him now.

  "We may have to," insisted Dawson.

  'Ve may, then again we may not." The director turned to Ogilvie. "Why does

  Havelock have to buy anything concrete, Red?"

  "So we can get close enough to grab him."

  "Couldn~t a sequence be designed-say, one piece of Information leading to

  another, each more vital than the lastso as to draw him in, suck him in, as

  Paul says? He caiA get the last unless he shows up?'

  "A treasure huntr asked Ogilvie, laughing.

  "That!s what Vs on'" said Miller quietly.

  "The answer's no." The red-haired man leaned forward, his elbows on the

  table. "A sequence operation depends on credibility; the better the field

  man, the firmer the credibility. Ws also a very delicate exercise. The

  subject, if he's someone like Havelock, will use decoys, blind

  intermediaries. Hell reverse the process by programming his decoys with

  information of their own, give his intermediaries questions they want

  answered on the spot; he'll suck you in. He won't expect perfect answers;

  Vd be suspicious as hell if he got them, but he!ll want what we used to

  call a 'stomach consensus! Ws not something you can write down on paper and

  analyze; it's a gut feeling for believability. There aren't that many good

  men who could fool Havelock in sequence. one substantial misstep and he

  closes the book and walks away."

  "And sets off the explosions," said Miller.

  "I see," said Stem.

  And it was clear that the men around that table did see. It was one of

  those moments when the unkempt, irascible Ogilvie confirmed his value, as

  he did so frequently. He had been out in that labyrinth called the "field,"

  and his summations had a peculiar eloquence and sagacity.

  106ROBERT Luixum

  'Mere is a way, however," continued the former agent. "rm not sure there's

  any other."

  "What is it?" asked the director of Cons Op.

  #Ve."

  "Out of the question."

  '11iink about it," said Ogilvie quickly. "I'm the credibility. Havelock

  knows me-more important, he knows I sit at this table. To him Im one of

  them, a balf-assed strategist who may not . know what he's asking for, but

  sure as hell knows why. And with me there!s a difference; a few of them out

  there might even count on it. Ive been where they've been. None of the rest

  of you have. Outside of Matthias, if theres anyone he'll listen to, anyone

  he'll meet with, ies me."

  "rin sorry, Red. Even if I agreed with you, and I think I do, I can~t

  permit It. You know the rules. Once you step inside this room, you never go

  out in the field again."

  "That rule was made in this room. Vs not Holy Writ."

  "It was made for a very good reason," said the attorney. 'Me same reason

  our houses are watched around the clock, our cars followed, our regular

  telephones tapped with our consent. If any of us was taken by interested

  parties, from Moscow to Peking to the Persian Gulf, the consequences would

  be beyond recall."

  "No disrespect, Counselor, but those safeguards were designed for people

  like you and the Headman here. Even Daniel. rm a little different. They

  wouldn't try to take me because they know they'd wind up with nothing."

  "No one doubts your capabilities," countered Dawson. "But I submit-"

  "It hasn't anything to do with capabilities," interrupted Ogilvie, raising

  his hand to the lapel of his wom tweed jacket; he tamed up the Rap toward

  the lawyer next to him. "L,ook closely, Counselor. There's a slight bulge

  an inch from the tip here.-

  Dawson~s eyes dropped to the fabric, his expression noncommittal.

  -Cyanide?-

  "Thaes right."

  "Sometimes, Red, I find you hard to believe.*

  "Don't mistake me," said Ogilvie simply. "I don't ever want to use this-or

  the others I've got conveniently placed. rm no macho freak trying to shock

  you. I don~t hold my arm over a fire to show how brave I am any more than

  I

  THE PAWWAL MOSATC 107

  want to kill someone or 'have him try to kill me. rve got these pills

  because I'm a coward, Mr. Lawyer. You say were being watched, guarded

  twenty-four hours a day. That's terriflc, but I think yoere overreacting to

  something that doeset exist. I don't think there is a Me on you in

  Dzerzhinsky Square; at least not on you or the doctor here. Im sure there's

  one on Stem, but grabbing him is like codes in Cracker jacks, or us going in

  and grabbing someone like Rostov. It doeset happen. But there's a Me on

  me-you can bet your legal ass on that-and Im not retired. What I know is

  still very operative, more so ever since I stepped inside this room. That's

  why rve got these little bastards. I know bow I'd go in and bow I'd come

  out, and they know I know. Strangely enough, these pills are my protection.

  They know I've got them and they know I'd use them. Because Im a coward."

  "And yoeve just spelled out the reasons why you can't go into the field,"

  said the director of Consular Operations.

  "Have I? Then either you didn't listen or you should be fired for

  incompetence. For not taking into account what I did* spell. out. What do

  you want, Teacher? A note from my doctor? Excusing me from all activityr

  The strategists glanced briefly at each other, looking uncomfortable. "Come

  on, Red, cut it out," said Stem. 'Ibaes not called for."

  'Yes, it is, Dan. Ies the sort of thing you consider when making a

  decision. We all know about it, we just doet talk about it, and I suppose

  thaes another kind of consideration. How long have I got? Three months,

  maybe four? les why rm here, and that was an intelligent decision."

  "It was hardly the sole reason," offered Dawson softly.

  "If it didn't weigh heavily in my favor, it should have, Counselor. You

  should always pi
ck someone from the field whose longevity~or lack of it-can

  be counted on." Ogilvie tamed to the balding Miller. "Our doctor knows,

  don7t you, Paul?"

  "I'm not your doctor, Red," said the psychiatrist quietly.

  "You don't have to be; you~ve read the reports. In five weeks or so the

  pain will start getting worse .,. . then worse after that. I won't feel it,

  of course, because by then III be moved to a bospital room where injections

  will keep it under control, and all those phony cheerful voices will tell

  me rm

  108 ROBERT LUDLUM

  actually getting better. Until I can't focus, or hear them, and then they

  don't have to say anything." The former field man leaned back in his chair,

  looking now at Stern. "We!ve got here what our learned attorney might call

  a confluence of beneficial prerogatives. 'Chances are that the Soviets won1

  touch me, but if they tried, nothing's lost for me, you can be goddamned

  sure of that. And I'm the only one around who can pull Havelock out in the

  open, far enough so we can take him."

  Stem's gaze was steady on the red-haired man who was dying. "You're

  persuasive," he said.

  "I'm not only persuasive, Im right." Suddenly Ogilvie pushed his chair back

  and stood up. "rm so right rm going home to pack and grab a cab to Andrews.

  Get me on a military transport to Italy; theres no point in advertising the

  trip on a commercial flight. Those KGB turkeys know every passport, every

  cover I've ever used, and theWs no time to be inventive. Route me through

  Brussels into the base at Palombara. Then cable Baylor to expect me... Call

  me Apache."

  "Apache?" asked Dawson.

  'Darnn good trackers."

  "Assuming Havelock will meet with you," said the psychiahist, "what'll you

  say to him?"

  "Not a hell of a lot. Once hes an arm~s length away he's mine."

  "He's experienced, Red," said Stem, studying Ogilvie's face. "He may not be

  all there, but he's tough."

  "IT have equipment," replied the dying man, heading for the door. "And I'm

  experienced, too, which is why Im a coward. I don't go near anything I

  can't walk away from. Mostly." Ogilvie opened the door and left without

  another word. The exit was clean, swift, the sound of the closing door

  final.

  'We won't see him again," said Miller.

  "I know," said Stem. "So does he."

  "Do you think he'll reach Havelock?" asked Dawson.

  "rin sure of it," replied the director of Cons Op. "Hell take him, turn him

  over to Baylor and a couple of resident physicians we've got in Rome, then

  he'll disappear. He told us. He's not going into that hospital room and all

  those lying voices. He'll go his own way."

  "Ws entitled to that," said the psychiatrist.

  . THE PARSIFAL MOSAIC109

  "I suppose so," agreed the lawyer without conviction, turning to Stem. "As

  Red might say, 'No disrespect,' but I wish to Cod we could be certain about

  Havelock. He's got to be immobilized. We could be hauled in by authorities

  all over Europe, fuel for the fanatics of every persuasion. Embassies could

  be burned to the ground, networks scattered, time lost, hostages taken,

  and-don~t fool yourself-a great many people killed. All because one man

  fell,off balance. We've seen it happen with far less provocation than

  Havelock could provide."

  "That's why Im so sure Ogilvie will bring him in," said Stem. "Im not in

  Paurs line of work, but I think I know what's going through Red's mind.

  He's offended, deeply offended. He's watched friends die in the field-from

  Africa to Istanbul-unable to do anything because of his cover. He saw a

  wife and three children leave him because of his job; he hasn't seen his

  kids in five years. Now he's got to live with what he's got-die from what

  he's got. All things considered, if he stays on track, what gives Havelock

  the right, the privilege, to go over the edge? Our Apaches on his last

  hunt, setting his last trap. Hell see it through because be!s angry."

  'That and one other thing," said the psychiatrist. "Theres nothing else

  left for him. Ies his final justification."

  "For what?" asked the lawyer.

  "The pain, " answered Miller. "His and Havelocles. You see, he respe~ted

  him once. He cant forget that."

  8

  The -unmarked jet swept down from the skies forty miles due north of the

  airport of Palombara Sabina. It bad flown from Brussels, avoiding all

  military and commercial air routes, and soaring over the Alps east of the

  Lepontine sector; its altitude was so great and its descent so rapid that

  the probability of observation was practically nonexistent. Its blip on

  defense radar screens was prearranged: it would appear and disappear without

  comment, without investigation. And when it landed at Palombara, it would

  bring in a man who bad been taken on board secretly at three o'clock in the

  morning, Brussels time. A man without a conventional name, referred to only

  as the Apache. This man, as with many like him, could not risk the

  formalities of identifleation at immigration desks or border checkpoints.

  Appearances might be altered and names changed, but other men watched such

  places, knowing what to look for, their minds trained to react like memory

  banks; too often they were successful. For the Apache-as for many like

  him-the current means of travel was more the norm than otherwise.

  The engines were cut back as the pilot-traffied in carrier landings-guided

  his aircraft over the forests in the stretched-out, low approach to the

  field. It was a mile-long black strip cut out of the woods, with

  maintenance hangars and traffic towers set back and camouflaged, odd yet

  barely

  110

  THE PARSWAL MOSAICill

  visible intrusions on the countryside. The plane touched down, and the young

  pilot tamed in his seat as the reverse thrust of the jets echoed throughout

  the small cabin. He raised his voice to be heard, addressing the red-haired

  middle-aged man behind him.

  "Here we are, Indian. You can take out your bow and arrows.

  "Funny boy," said Ogilvie, releasing the clamp that held the strap across

  his chest. He looked at his watch. "What!S the time here? I'm still on a

  Washington clock.'

  "Oh-five-fifty-seven; you've lost six hours. You're working on midnight,

  but here ies morning. if yoere expected at the office, I hope you got some

  sleep."

  "Enough. Is transport arranged?"

  "Right to the big chiefs wigwam on the Via Vittorio."

  "Very cute. The embassy?"

  "That's right. Yatere a special package. Delivery guaranteed straight from

  Brussels."

  "That's wrong. The embassy's out."

  "We've got our orders."

  "Im issuing new ones."

  Ogilvie walked into the small office reserved for men like himself in the

  maintenance building of the unmapped airfield. It was a room devoid of

  windows, with only basic furniture; there were two telephones, both routed

  perpetually through electronic scrambler systems. The outside corridor that

  led to the office was guarded by three men dressed innocuously in overalls.

  Under
the bulging fabric, however, each carried a weapon, and should any

  unidentified persons interfere with the incoming passenger or the presence

  of a camera even be suspected, the weapons would be bared, used instantly if

  necessary. These accommodations were the result of extraordinary conferences

  between unknown men of both governments whose concerns transcended the

  stated limits of covert cooperation; quite simply, they were necessary.

  Governments everywhere were being threatened from without and within, from

  fanatics of the left and the right committed solely to the destruction of

  the status quo. Fanaticism fed upon itself, upon sensationalism, upon the

  spectacular interruption of normal activity; clandestine access had to be

  given those who fought the extremists in any form. It was

  112 ROBERT LunLum

  presumed that those who passed through Palombara were such fighters, and the

  current passenger knew beyond any doubt that be was one. Unless he brought

  in a rogue agent, a dangerous paranoid whose mind held the secret histories

  of a thousand untold intelligence operations going back sixteen years, that

  man could destroy alliances and networks throughout Europe. Sources would

  disappear, potential sources evaporate. Michael Havelock had to be found and

  taken; no terrorist could inflict greater damage.

  Ogilvie walked to the desk, sat down, and picked up the telephone on his

  left; it was black, signifying domestic use. He dialed the number be had

  committed to memory, and twelve seconds later the sleepy voice of

  Lieutenant Colonel Lawrence Baylor Brown was on the line.

  "Brown. What is it?"

  "Baylor Brown?"

  "Apache?"

  "Yes. rm at Palombara. Have you heard anything?"

  "Not a word. rve got tracers out all over Rome; there's not a line on him."

  "You've got what?"

  "Tracers. Every source we can pay or who owes us a favor-"

  "Goddamn it ' call them offl What the hell do you think you're doing?"

  . Hey, easy, buddy. I don't think we're going to get along."

  "And I don't give a duck's fuck whether we do or notl You're not dealing

  with a G-two crossword puzzle; he's a snake, buddy. You let him find out

  you're going after him, he figures you've broken the rules. And he will

  find out; tbaes when he bites. Jesus, you think he's never been traced be-

 

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