strategists watched, an uneasy sense of relief apparent on both their
faces.
"Do you realize," said Miller, turning in his chair, "that for the first
time in three years the phrase 'I can't support you' was used? Not 'I don't
think so' or 'I disagree,' but 'I can't support you., "
"Icouldn't," said Dawson. "Daniers a statistician. He sees
numbers-fractions, equations, totals-and they spell out the odds for him.
God knows he's brilliant at it; he's saved the lives of hundreds with those
statistics. But rm a lawyer; I see complications, ramifications. Parties of
the first part turning on parties of the second part. Prosecutors stymied
because a point of law prohibits them from connecting one piece of evidence
to another when it should be permitted. Criminals outraged over minor
discrepancies of testimony when the only things outrageous were their
crimes. I've seen it all, Paul, and there are times when the odds aren't
found
I
152 RonERT LuDLum
in numbers. They're found in things you can't perceive at the moment."
"Strange, isn't it? The dffferences between us, I mean. Daniel sees
numbers, you see complications, and I see-fullblown possibilities based on
particles."
"A book of matches?"
"I guess so." The psychiatrist leveled his eyes at the attorney. "I believe
in those matches. I believe in what they stand for."
"So do 1. At least in the possibility they represent. That's the
complication, Headman-as Ogilvie would have said. If there's a possibility
that Havelock's sane, then everything he says is true. The girl-false guilt
generated in our deepest laboratories-alive, running. Rostov in Atbens-bait
not taken to the Lubyanka for reasons unknown, a Soviet mole at 1600
Complications, Doctor. We need Michael Havelock to ~elp* us unravel a
melted ball of wax. if it's happened-whatever it is-it's'frigbtening."
Dawson abruptly pushed his chair back and stood up. "I've got to get back
to the office. IT leave a message for Stem; be may want to come over and
talk. How about you?"
"What? Ob, no, thanks," answered Miller, preoccupied. "I've got a
flve-thirty session at Bethesda, a marine from Teheran." He looked up. "It
is frightening, isn't it?"
"Yes, Paul. Very."
"We did the right thing. No one in Matthias's section will put Mikhail
Havli6ek'beyond salvage.'"
"I know. I counted on it.-
The director of Consular Operations came out of the office on the fifth
floor, L Section, of State, closing the door quietly behind bim-closing,
too, a part of the problem from his mind. It was shared now, the
responsibility spread. The man he had shared it with-the man who would reach
Rome under the code name Ambiguity and render the judgment-was chosen
carefully. He was one of Anthony Matthias's inner circle, someone the
Secretary of State trusted implicitly. He would consider all the options
before making the decisionundoubtedly not alone.
The issue was as clear as it could be. If Havelock was sane and telling the
truth, be was capable of doing extraordinary damage because he had been
betrayed. And if that was the
THE PARSTITAL MOSAIC153
case, there was treason here in Washington in inconceivable places. Related
but separate crises. Should he then be placed immediately "beyond salvage,"
so that his death would prevent the great harm he could inflict on
intelligence operations throughout all Europe? Or should the order for his
execution be delayed, in the hope that something might happen that would
reconcile a man who was an innocent victim to those who would not betray
him?
In Col des Moulinets the only way was to find the woman and, if it was
Jenna Karas, to bring her to Havelock, let them join forces and together
rim down the second, potentially greater crisis here in Washington. But if
it was not Jenna Karas, if it was a Soviet ploy, if she did not exist
except as a deadly puppet hoax to drive a man mad and into treason, what
then? Or if she was alive and they could not find her, would Havelock
listen? Would Mikhail Havli6ek, victim, survivor of Lidice and Soviet
Prague, listen? Or would he see betrayal where there was none, and in turn
betray his own? Could the delay then be justified? God knew it could not be
justified to dismantled networks or to undercover agents who found
themselves in the Lubyanka. And if that was the answer, there was the
possibility-tbe probability-that a man had to die because be was right.
The only morality here is pragmatic reality, no philosophy but our own
brand of utilitarianism: the greatest advantage for the many-over the few,
over the individual.
That was the real answer, the statistics proved it. But this was the inner
territory of Anthony Matthias's domain. Would they see it here? In all
likelihood they would not, Stem realized. Fear would compel the man he had
talked with to reach Matthias, and the revered Secretary of State would
delay.
And a part of Daniel Stem-not the professional but the person inside-did
not object. A man should not die because he is right, because be is sane.
Yet Stem bad done his professional best to make the options clear, to
justify that death if it came down to it. And he had been fortunate in one
respect, he thought as he approached the door to the outer reception room.
He could not have brought the problem to a fairer, more levelheaded man.
Arthur Pierce's title-like that of so many other young middle-aged men in
the department-was Undersecretary of State, but be was head and shoulders
above the many others. There had been around
154 ROBERT LUDLUM
twenty senior personnel still in L Section when Stem reached the flfth floor
but Pierce's name had stood out. To begin with, Pierce ~Ias not in
Washington every day; he was assigned to the United Nations in New York as
chief liaison between the ambassador and the State Department, a position
decreed by Anthony Matthias, who knew what he was doing. Given a respectable
amount of time, Arthur Pierce would be made the U.N. ambassador, and a good
man, a decent man, would be rewarded not only for his high intelligence but
for his decency.
And God knew decency was needed now.... Or was it? wondered Stern,
startling himself, his hand reaching for the knob of the reception-room
door. The only morality here is pragmatic morality . . . There was decency
in that for hundreds of potential victims in the field.
No matter, it was out of his bands, Stem thought as he opened the door. The
decision to be made and transmitted under the code name Ambiguity was on
Pierce's conscience now. Quiet, bright, understanding Arthur Pierce-outside
of Mikhail HavIi6ek, closest to Matthias-would ponder all sides of the
question, then bring in others. The decision would be made by committee, if
it was to be made. They were Ambiguity now.
"Mr. Stem?" the receptionist called out as he passed her, heading for the
elevator.
"Yes?"
"Message for you, sir."
It said: "Daniel, III be at my office for
a while. If you're of a mind,
come over for a drink. I'll drive you home, chicken."
Dawson had not signed his name, nor was it necessary. The often aloof,
circumspect attorney always seemed to know when quiet talk was called for;
it was his warmer side. The two cold, analytical men every now and then
needed the solace of each other's rarely seen lighter traits. Ile humorous
offer to drive him home was a reference to Stem's distaste for Washington
traffic. He took taxis everywhere, to the annoyance of his personal
surveillance. Well, whatever team was on now, it could take a break and
pick him up later at home in Virginia; Dawson's guards could serve them
both until then.
Ogilvie had been right, the whole business was foolish, a
THE PARgiFAL MosAic155
hangover from the Angleton days in Langley. Stem looked at his watch; it was
twenty minutes past seven, but he knew the lawyer would still be at his
office, still waiting for the quiet talk.
They talked for over an hour before going down to Dawson's car, analyzing
and reanalyzing the events at Costa Brava, re alizing there was no
explanation, no answer within their grasp. Each bad called his wife; both
women were inured to the interminable hours demanded at State, and claimed
to understand. Each lied and both husbands understood; the clandestine
regions of government placed too much strain on the marriage vows. This
nether life would all come to an end one day. There was a far healthier
world beyond the Potomac than either man bad known for too many years.
"Pierce will go to Matthias, and Matthias won't consider it, you know that,
don't you?" said Dawson, turning off the crowded highway onto the
backeountry road in Virginia, passing luminous signs that read coNsTaucTioN
mMAD. "He'll demand a review."
"My conference with Pierce was one-on-one," said Stern, absently glancing
at the rearview mirror outside the window, knowing that a pair of
headlights would be there in moments. The watchdogs stayed on their
leashes. "I was balanced but firm; either decision has merit, both have
drawbacks. When be talks to his committee they may decide to go around
Matthias because of the time factor. I emphasized it. In less than three
hours our people will be in Col des Moulinets; so will Havelock. They have
to know how to proceed."
"Whatever comes down, they'll first try to take him alive."
"That's the priority; no one here wants it otherwise." Stem looked through
the flashing shadows at the attorney. "But I doet kid myself, you were
right before. If it comes down 'beyond salvage,' he's dead. les a license
to kill someone wbo'll kill you if be can."
"Not necessarily. I may have overreacted. If the order's clear-dispatch the
last resort-I could be wrong."
"Yotere wrong now, I'm afraid. Do you think Havelock will-give them a
choice? He survived the Palatine; he'll use every trick in his very thick
book. No one'll get close enough
156 RoBERT LUDLUM
to take him. But getting him in a rifle sight is another matter. That can be
done and no doubt will be."
"rm not sure I agree."
"That's better than not supporting me."
"It's easier," said Dawson, smiling briefly. "But Havelock doesn , t know
we found the man in Civitavecchia; he doesn't know we're on. him in Col des
Moulinets."
"He'll assume it. He told Baylor about the Karas woman getting out, how
he's convinced she got out. Hell expect us to follow up. Well concentrate
on her, of course. If it is jenna Karas, she's the answer to everything;
we'd be home free without a shot. Then with Havelock we can go after the
mess here. That's the optimum, and I hope to Christ it happens. But it may
not."
"And then we're left with a man in the cross hairs of a rifle scope," said
Dawson with an edge to his voice, as be accelerated down the flat stretch
of backeountry road. "if it is the Karas woman, we've got to find her. We
have to."
"No matter who it is, well do our damnedest," said Stem, his eyes again
straying to the mirror outside the window. There were no headlights.
"That's odd. The watchdogs strayed, or your foot's outracing them."
"There was a lot of trafric on the highway. If they got in a slow lane,
they could crack their butts breaking out. It's Friday in Virginia, swizzle
time for the bunt-country diplomats. On nights like this, I begin to
understand why you don't drive."
"What team's on tonight, by the way?"
The question was never answered. Instead, an ear-sbattering scream exploded
from the attorney's throat as the deafening impact came, smashing the
windshield into a thousand blades of flying glass, piercing flesh and eyes,
severing veins and arteries. Metal shrieked against metal, twisting,
breaking, curling, crushing against itself as the left side of the car rose
off the ground, throwing the bodies into the well of deep-red rivulets
below.
The steel behemoth of yellow and black, its colors glistening in the
reflection of its single front floodlight, vibrated thunderously; the giant
treads of its spiked cables rolled through the huge wheel casings,
relentlessly pressing the monster forward. This enormous machine that moved
earth from mountains and forests now crawled ahead, crushing the
TnE PARsiFAL Mosmc157
demolished vehicle as it sent it over and beyond the road. The attorney's
car plunged down the steep incline of a shallow ravine; the fuel tank
exploded, and fire spread everywhere, consuming the bodies within the car.
Then the brightly colored machine, its curved implement of destruction
hydraulically raised in triumph, jerked back and forth, its massive gears
remeshing, the pitch of the sound higher-an animal proclaiming its kill.
And with sporadic but deliberate movements it retreated across the road
into its lair at the edge of the woods.
High in the darkness of the cab the unseen driver turned off the engine and
raised a hand-held radio to his lips.
"Ambiguity terminated," be said.
"Get out of there," was the reply.
The long gray sedan roared out of the highway exit into the backeountry
road. As the license plates indicated, the vehicle was registered in the
State of North Carolina, but a persistent investigator could learn that the
individual in Raleigh listed as the owner was in reality one of twenty-four
men stationed in Washington, D.C. They were a unit, each having had
extensive experience in military police and counterintelligence; they were
assigned to the Department of State. The car now racing down the dark
country road in Virginia was one of a fleet of twelve; they, too, were
assigned to State, Division of Consular Operations.
"File a report with the insurance company in Raleigh," said the man sitting
next to the driver, speaking into a microphone attached to a large radio
console beneath the dashboard. "Some clown sideswiped us, and we plowed
into a guy from Jersey. There was no damage to us, of course, but he
doesn't have much of a trunk left. We wanted to get out of there, so we
/>
told him-'
"Grahand"
"What?"
"Up aheadl The firel"
"Jesus Christl Movel-
The gray sedan leaped forward, the sound of its powerful engine eeboing
through the dark Virginia countryside. Nine seconds later it reached the
steep incline that fronted the shallow ravine, and tires screeched as the
brakes were applied. Both men leaped out and raced to the edge, the heat
158 RoBERT LUDLUM
of the flames directly below causing both to step back, with their bands
shielding their eyes from the fire.
"Ob, my Godl" cried the driver. "It's Dawson~s carl Maybe we can--"
"Nol" shouted the man named Graham, stopping his associate from crawling
down the flank of the ravine. His eyes were drawn to the yellow-and-black
bulldozer standing motionless in its recess on the side of the road. Then
. "Millerl" he screamed. "Where's Wer?"
"The chart said Bethesda, I think."
"Find himl" ordered Graham, running across the road, crouching, reaching
behind for the weapon in his hip holster. "Get Bethesdal Raise himl-
The bead nurse at the reception counter on the sixth floor of the Bethesda
Naval Hospital was adamant. Neither did she appreciate the aggressive tone
of voice used by the man on the telephone; it was a poor connection to begin
with, and his shouting only made it worse.
"I repeat, Dr. Miller is in psychiatric session and can't be disturbed.-
"You get him on the line and you get him on now? This is a Four Zero
emergency, Department of State, Consular Operations. This is a direct order
routed and coded through State's switchboard. Confirm, please."
"Confirmed," said a third voice flatly. "This is operator one-seven, State,
for your recheck."
"Very well, operator one-seven, and you may be sure we will check." The
nurse jammed her forefinger on the hold button, cutting off further
conversation, as she got out of her chair and walked around the counter. It
was hysterical men hke the so-called special agent from Consular Operations
that kept the psychiatric wards in full operation, she thought as she
proceeded down the white corridor toward the row of therapy rooms. They
screamed emergency for the flimsiest reason, more often than not trying to
Robert Ludlum - The Parcifal Mosaic.txt Page 20
