Robert Ludlum - The Parcifal Mosaic.txt

by The Parcifal Mosaic [lit]

  impress everyone with their so-called authority. It would serve special

  agent Consular-whatever right if the doctor refused to come to the phone.

  But he would not refuse; the bead nurse knew that. Dr. Miller's brilliance

  in no way thwarted his genuine Idndness; if he had a fault, it was his

  excessive generosity. He had checked into T.R. 20; she approached it,

  noting that

  THE PARSIFAL MOSAIC159

  the red light at the side of the door was on, signifying occupancy. She

  pressed the intercom button.

  "Dr. Miller, I bate to interrupt, but there's a man from the State

  Department on the telephone. He says ies an emergency."

  There was no reply; perhaps the intercom was not working, The head nurse

  pressed the button again, applying more pressure, speaking louder. "Dr.

  Miller? I realize this is highly irregular, but there's a man on the phone

  from State. He's most insistent and the operator did confirm the status of

  the call."

  Nothing. Silence. No sound of the knob being turned, no acknowledgment

  whatsoever. The doctor obviously could not hear her; the intercom was not

  working. She rapped on the door.

  "Dr. Miller? Dr. Miller?"

  Really, the man was not deaf. What was be doing? His patient was a marine,

  one of the hostages from Teheran. Not violent; overly passive, actually.

  Had there been a regression? The nurse turned the knob and opened the door

  of Therapy Room 20.

  She screamed-again and again.

  Crouched in the comer, trembling, was the young manne in his

  govemment-issue bathrobe. He was staring through the light of the desk

  lamp, his gaze riveted on the figure sprawled back on the chair. Miller's

  eyes were open wide, glasslike-dead. In the center of his forehead was a

  single bullet hole from which blood poured out, rolling down his face and

  into the collar of his white shirt.

  The man in Rome looked at his watch. It was a quarter past four M*- the

  morning, his men in position in Col. des Moulinets, and still no word from

  Washington. The only other person in the code room was the radio operator;

  bored with the inactivity, he was absently scanning his dials, picking up

  insignificant traffic signals from ships mainly. Every now and then he would

  lean back and flip through the pages of an Italian magazine, mouthing the

  phrases that bad become his third language-the radio was his second.

  The light on the telephone preceded the hum. The man picked it up. "Rome,"

  be said.

  "This is Ambiguity, Rome." The voice was clear, deliber- 160 ROBEIRT LUDLUM

  ate. "That name gives me complete authority regarding all orders issued to

  your unit at Col des Moulinets. I assume Director Stem made that clear to

  you."

  "Very clear, sir."

  "Are we on total scrambler?"

  "Total."

  "We're not to be taped or logged. Is that understood?"

  "Understood. No tape, no log. What's the word?"

  "'Beyond salvage.' Complete."

  "That's it, then."

  "Not yet. There's more."

  "What?"

  "Clarification. There's been no contact with the freighter, has there?"

  "Of course not. Small-plane surveillance until it's too dark, then we shift

  to parallel coast sightings."

  "Good. She'll be put ashore somewhere before San Remo, I'd guess."

  :We're ready."

  Is the Corsican in charge up there?" asked the voice from Washington.

  "The one who came on board three days ago?"

  'Yes.'

  "He is. He put the unit together, and I can tell you we owe him. Our drones

  over here have dwindled."

  'Good.-

  "Speaking of clarification, I assume the colonel's order still holds. We

  bring the woman in."

  "Inoperative. Whoever she is, she's not the Karas woman; she was killed at

  Costa Brava, we know that."

  "Then what do we do?"

  "Let Moscow have her back. This one's Soviet poison, a lure to drive the

  target out of his head. It worked; he's already talked. He's-2'

  "'Beyond salvage.'"

  "Just get her out of here. We don't want any trail that could lead back to

  us, no reopened speculations on Costa Brava. The Corsican will know what to

  do."

  "I've got to say it, I'm not sure I understand."

  '-fou don't have to. We just want proof of dispatch. His dispatch."

  "You'll have it. Our man with the eyes is up there."

  THE PARsYFAL MosAic161

  "Have a good day, Rome. A good day with no mistakes."

  "No mistakes, no tape, no log."

  "Out," said the voice known only as Ambiguity.

  The man behind the desk was outlined in silhouette. He was in front of a

  window overlooking the grounds below the Department of State, the soft glow

  of faraway streetlamps the only light intruding on the dark office. The man

  had been facing the window, the telephone held close to his lips. He

  swiveled in his chair, his features in shadow, as he replaced the phone and

  leaned forward, resting his forehead on the extended fingers of both bands;

  the curious streak of white that shot through his dark bair gleamed even in

  the dim light.

  Undersecretary of State Arthur Pierce, born Nikolai Petrovich Malyekov in

  the village of Ramenskoye, southeast of Moscow, and raised in the State of

  Iowa, breathed deeply, steadily, imposing a calm over himself as he bad

  learned to do throughout the years whenever a crisis called for swift,

  dangerous decisions; be knew full well the consequences of failure. That,

  of course, was the strength of men like him: they were not afraid to fail.

  They understood that the great accomplishments in history demanded the

  greatest risks; that, indeed, history itself was shaped by the boldness not

  only of collective action but of individual initiative. Those who panicked

  at the thought of failure, who did not act with clarity and determination

  when the moments of crisis were upon them, deserved the limitations to

  which their fears committed them.

  There had been another decision to make, a decision every bit as dangerous

  as the one be had transmitted to Rome, but there was no avoiding it. The

  strategists of Consular Operations had reopened the events of that night on

  the Costa Brava; they bad been peeling away the layers of deceit, about

  which they knew nothing. It all bad to be buried-they bad to be buried. At

  all costs, at all risk. Costa Brava bad to be submerged again and become an

  obscure deception in a convoluted world of lies. In a few hours word would

  be sent from Col des Moulinets: "The order for 'beyond salvage' has been

  carried out. Authorization: Code Ambiguity-establisbed and cleared by D. S.

  Stern, director of Consular Operations."

  But only the strategists knew whom Stem had come to

  162 ROBERT LuDLum

  with his ambiguous dilemma. In fact, Stem himself had not known whom be

  would approach until be had emerged on the fifth floor and studied the

  roster of senior personnel on the premises; be had made that clear. No

  matter, thought Artbur Pierce in the dark office as be glanced at the

  inscribed photograph of Anthony Matthias on the wall. All things considered,r />
  it would have been unthinkable for him not to have been consulted regarding

  the crisis. It was simply more convenient for him to have been in his office

  when Stem and the other strategists had made the decision to bring the

  insoluble problem upstairs. Had be not been on the floor, be would have been

  reached, his counsel sought. The result would have been the same: "Beyond

  salvage." Only the method would have been different: an unacknowledged

  consensus by a faceless committee. Everything worked out for the best; the

  past two hours had been orchestrated properly. Failure had been considered,

  but not contemplated. Failure had been out of the question. The strategists

  were dead, all links to code name Ambiguity severed.

  They needed time. Days, a week, a month. They had to find the man who bad

  accomplished the incredible-with their help. They would find him, for be

  was leaving a trail of fear-no, not fear, terror-and trails could be

  tracked. And when they found him, it would not be the meek who inberited

  the earth. It would be the Voennaya.

  There were so few of them left on this side of the world. So few, but so

  strong, so right. They had seen it all, lived it all. The lies, the

  corruption, the essential rot at the cores of power; they had been part of

  it for a greater cause. They had not forgotten who they were, or what they

  were. Or why they were. They were the travelers, and there was no higher

  calling; its concept was based in reality, not in romantic illusions. They

  were the men and women of the new world, and the old one needed them

  desperately. They were not many in numbers-less than a hundred, committed

  beyond life-but they were finely tuned units, prepared to react instantly

  to any opportunity or emergency. They had the positions, the right papers,

  the proper vehicles. The Voennaya was generous; they, in turn, were loyal

  to the elite corps of the KGB.

  The death of the strategists had been crucial. The resulting vacuum would

  paralyze the original architects of Costa Brava, stunning them into

  silence. They would say nothing;

  THE PAmi7AL MosAic163

  cover-up would be paramount. For the man in shadows bebind the desk had not

  lied to Rome: there could be no reopened speculations on Costa Brava. For

  either side.

  Darkness obscuring his movements, Arthur Pierce, the most powerful

  paminyatchik in the Department of State, rose from the desk and walked

  silently to the armchair against the wall. He sat down and stretched his

  legs; he would remain there until morning, until the crowds of senior and

  subordinate personnel began to fill up the fifth floor. Then he would

  mingle with the others, signing a forgotten roster sheet; his morning

  presence would be temporary, for he was needed back in New York. He was,

  after all, Washington's senior aide to the ambassador of the American

  delegation at the United Nations. In essence, he was the State Department's

  major voice on the East River; soon he would be the ambassador. That bad

  been Anthony Matthias's design; everyone knew it. It would be yet another

  significant step in his extraordinary career.

  Suddenly Malyekov-Pierce bolted up in the chair. There was a last phone

  call to be placed to Rome, a last voice to be stilled: a man in a radio

  room who answered a sterile telephone and took an untaped, unlogged

  message.

  11

  'Sh4A not on board, I swear itl" protested the harassed captain of the

  freighter Santa Teresa, seated at his desk in the small cabin aft of the

  wheelhouse. "Search, if you wish, signore. No one will interfere. We put her

  ashore three . . . three and a half hours ago. Madre di Diol Such madnessl*

  "How? WhereP'demanded Havelock.

  "Same as you. A motor launch came out to meet us twelve Idlomerters south

  of Arroa di Taggia. I swear to you, I knew nothingl I'll kill that pig in

  Civitavecchial Just a political refugee from the Balkans, he said-a woman

  with a little money and friends in France. There are so many these days.

  Where is the sin in helping one more?"

  Michael leaned over and picked up the outdated diplomatic identification

  card that gave his status as consular attach6, U.S. Department of State,

  and said calmly, "No sin at all, if that's what you believed."

  "Ies true, signorel For nearly thirty years I've pushed my old cows through

  these waters. Soon I leave the sea with a little land, a little money. I

  grow grapes. Never narcoticil Never contrabbandil But people-yes. Now and

  then people, and I am not ashamed. Those who flee places and men you and I

  know nothing about. I ask you again, where is the sin?"

  In making mistakes.'

  164

  THE PARSIFAL MOSAIC165

  "I cannot believe this woman is a criminal."

  "I didn~t say that. I said we had to find her."

  The captain nodded his head in resignation. "Badly enough to report me. I

  leave the sea for prison. Grazie, gran Signor Americano."

  "I didn't say that, either," said Michael quietly.

  The captain's eyes widened as he looked up, his head motionless. "Che

  cosaP"

  "I didn't expect you to be what you seem to be."

  "Che dice?"

  "Never mind. There are times when embarrassment should be avoided. If you

  cooperate, nothing may have to be said. If you cooperate."

  "In any way you wishl Vs a gift I did not expect."

  "Tell me everything she said to you. And do it quickly.~

  "There was much that was meaningless-2'

  "That's not what I want to bear."

  "I understand. She was calm, obviously highly intelligent, but, beneath, a

  very frightened woman. She stayed in this cabin."

  "Oh?"

  "Not with me, I can assure you. I have daughters her age, signore. We bad

  three meals together; there was no other place for her, and my crew is not

  what I would have my daughters eat with. Also, she carried a great deal of

  lire on her person. She had to; the transportation she purchased did not

  come cheap.... She looked forward to much trouble. Tonight."

  "What do you mean?"

  "She asked me if I had ever been to the village of Col des Moulinets in the

  Ligurian mountains."

  "She told you about Col des Moulinets?"

  "I think she assumed I knew, that I was merely one part of her journey,

  aware of the other parts. As it happened, I have been to Moulinets several

  times. The ships they give me are often in need of repairs, here in San

  Remo, or Savona, or Marseilles, which, incidentally, is my farthest port of

  call. I am not what is known as a capitano superlore-"

  "Please. Go on."

  "We have been dry-docked here in San Remo a few times and I have gone up to

  the mountains, to Col des Moulinets. It's across the French border west of

  Monesi, a lovely town

  166 RoBERT LuDLum

  filled with mountain streams and- How do you say it? Ruote a pate?"

  "Paddle wheels. Moulinets can also mean paddle wheels in French."

  "SI. It's a minor pass in the lower Alps, not used very much. It's

  difficult to reach, the facilities poor, the transportation poorer. And the

  border guards are the most lax in the Ligu
rians and the Maritimes; they

  barely have time to take the Cauloises out of their mouths to glance at

  papers. I tried to assure my frightened refugee that she would have no

  trouble."

  "You think she'll try to go through a checkpoint?"

  "There's only one, a short bridge across a mountain river. Why not? I doubt

  it would be necessary even to bribe a guard; if she was one woman among a

  group of well-dressed people at night, no doubt evidencing fine vino. What

  concern is it of theirs?"

  "Men like me."

  The captain paused; be leaned back in his chair appraising the American

  official, as if in a somewhat different light. "Then you would have to

  answer that yourself, signore. Who else knows?" Both men looked at each

  other, neither speaking. The captain nodded and continued. "But I tell you

  this, if she doesn't use the bridge, she will have to make her way through

  very dense forest with much steep rock, and don't forget the river."

  "Thanks. That's the kind of information I need. Did she say why she was

  getting out this way?"

  "The usual. The airports were watched; the train stations also, as well as

  the major roads that cross into France."

  "Watched by whorn?'

  "Men like you, signore?"

  "Is that what she said?"

  "She did not have to say anything more than she did, and I did not inquire.

  That is the truth."

  "I believe you."

  'Vill you answer the question, then? Do others know?"

  `Tm not sure," said Michael. "The truth."

  "Because if they do, I am arrested. I leave the sea for prison."

  "Would that mean it's public information?"

  Tim PAmFAL Mosmc 167

  "Most certainly. Charges would be brought before la commissione.

  "Then I don't think they'll touch you. I have an idea that this incident is

  the last thing on earth the men I'm involved with want known. If they

  haven't reached you by now-by radio, or a fast boat, or by belicopter-tbey

  either don't know about you, or they don't want to touch you."

  Again the captain paused, looking carefully at Havelock. 'Men you are

  involved with, signore?' he said, the words suspended.

  "I don't understand."

  "Involved with, but not of, is that correct?"

  "It's not important."

  "You wish to help this woman, do you not? You are not after her to ...