It doesn't matter; it's only for confusion. Theyll run; the truck's got a
good engine."
"And the car? What about the car?"
"ies shoved through. We just want it out of there. She's not Karas, she's
a Soviet lure. We're to let Moscow have her back. The French won't argue,
a guard was paid."
"Liarl Goddamned liarl" Michael slid the blade of the fishing knife across
the agent's face to the other cheek. "Liars should be markedl You're going
to be marked, liarl" He broke the skin with the point. "Those two nitro
clowns, the
THE PARswAL Mosmc 183
ones who worked Africa-Tanzania, Mozambique, Angolathey're not here for the
mountain air, liarl"
"Oh, Jesusl You're killing mel"
"Not yet, but it's entirely possible. Whats their act?"
"They're just backupsl Ricci brought theml"
"The Corsican?'
"I don't know ... Corsican."
'Me blond."
"Yesl Don't cut mel Please, don't cut mel"
"Backups? Like your friend at the table?"
'Me table? Christ, what are you?"
"An observer, and you're stupid. For you, they're only guns?"
"Jesus, yesl That's what they arel"
So the liars in Washington hed even to their own in Rome. Jerma Karas did
not exist. The woman in the car was to be dispatched beyond Rome's
cognizance. Liarsf Killersl
WhyP
"Where are they?"
"I'm bleedingl I've got blood in my mouthl"
"Youll drown in it if you don't tell me. Where?"
"One on both sidesl Twenty, thirty feet before the gate. Christ, rm dyingl"
"No, you're not dying, agent of record. You're just marked; you're
finished. You're not worth surgery." Havelock switched the knife to his
left band and raised his right, his fingers straight out, taut, the muscles
of the palm's underside rigid. He crashed his hand into the man's throat;
be would be immobilized for no less than an hour. It would be long enough;
it had to be.
He crawled through the underbrush, sure of his footing, at home in the
friendly forest.
He found him. The man was on his knees bunched over a canvas bag-a knapsack
or a small duffel; the fight from the bridge was just bright enough to
outline the figure and too dim to make it clearly visible if one did not
know what to look for. Suddenly there was the growing sound of an engine
accompanied by the clatter of a loose tailpipe or a bumper making contact
with the rock-filled road. Michael spun around, holding his breath, his
hand reaching toward his belt. X broken-down van came into view. A
sickening feeling
184 ROBErtT LuDLum
spreading through him, he wondered, Had the agent lied? He looked back at
the explosives specialist; the man crouched lower, making no other move at
all, and Havelock slowly let out his breath.
The van rattled by and stopped at the bridge. The blond killer was standing
by a guard; he bad obviously been instructed to observe procedure, but
instead, his eyes were roaming the woods and the road below. Loud voices
filled the gate area: a couple in the van was objecting to the unexpected
demand to get out; apparently, they made the trip daily across the border.
Michael knew the noise was his cover; be crept forward. He was within seven
feet of the man when the rear door of the van was opened and the shouted
obscenities rose to a crescendo. The door was slammed shut. Havelock lunged
out of the underbrush, arms extended with fingers curved for the attack.
"Che mai ... ?"
The specialist bad no chance to experience further shock. His head was
slammed into soft earth and rock, his neck vised by Michael's right hand;
he coughed spastically and went limp. Havelock turned the unconscious body
over, and whipping the man's belt out of the trousers, he slipped it under
the arms beneath the shoulder blades, and yanked it taut, then looped it
over and knotted it. He removed the Llarna automatic from his chest holster
and brought the short barrel down on the man's bead above the right temple,
extending the time during which the expert would remain unconscious.
Michael tore into the canvas bag. It was a specialist's mobile laboratory,
filled with compact blocks of dynamite and soft rolls of plastic explosive.
The devices with wires extending from miniaturized clocks with radium dials
were detonators, with positive and negative poles plugged into one another
across the letbal powder, set to emit charges at a given minute by a twist
of the fingers. There was also another type of detonating device: small,
flat, circular modules, no larger than the face of a man's watch; these
were without wires, having only a bar with a luminous numerical readout,
and a tiny button on the right with which to set the desired time. These
were designed specifically for the plastic charges, buried inside, and were
accurate within five seconds over a
TFM PARSIFAL MOSAIC185
time span of twenty-four hours. Havelock felt the casing of a single
plastique. On the top surface was a self-sealing lip through which a module
was inserted, and the bottom was marked by a flap that was to be peeled away
several minutes before placement. The peeling process released an epoxy
stronger than a weld; it would adhere to a second surface through earthquake
and hurricane. He removed three charges and modules, and put them in his
pockets. Then he crawled away, pulling the canvas bag behind him; ten feet
farther into the forest be shoved it under a fallen pine branch. He looked
at his watch. Twelve minutes to go.
The yelling bad stopped at the bridge. The angry couple was back in the
van, the guards apologizing for the crazy temporary regulations. Burocratil
The engine was started, a series of metallic groans preceding the full roar
of an accelerator pressed to the floor. The headlights were turned back on
and the orange barrier raised as the gears ground abrasively and the
decrepit vehicle crept onto the bridge. The clatter was louder now,
actually deafening as the van rumbled across the surface of the bridge
ridged with narrow, open metal struts. The noise echoed below and above,
filling the air with an unrelenting staccato that made one of the guards
wince and put both hands to his ears. The clatter, the headlights: the
first was diversion; the second, distraction. If he could get into a decent
line of sight, he might-just possibly-eliminate his backup executioner; be
would not make the attempt unless the odds were his.
The burly man in the heavy jacket would hug the rail, leaning over,
perhaps, to be as inconspicuous as possible in the glare of the headlights,
a weary pedestrian with too much wine in him. No single shot could be
counted on; no man was that accurate at eighty-plus feet. But the magnum
was a powerful weapon, the permanently attached silencer designed for zero
sighting as mucli as any handgun could be. Therefore a marksman firing five
or six rounds at a given target would have the probabilities on his side,
but only if the bullets were fired in what amounted to a single burst; each
instant of separat
ion was a margin for error. It would require a steady arm
supported by a solid object, a view undistorted by light and shadow. it
would not hurt to get closer, either.
With his concentration split equally between the overgrowth in front of him
and the blond assassin, whom he
186 RoIBERT LUDLUM
could see through the trees on his left, he made his way as swiftly, as
silently, as he could to the edge of the river gorge.
A flashlight beam shot out behind him. He scrambled behind a huge boulder,
sliding partially down the smooth surface and catching his foot on a
protruding ridge. His sanctuary was the top of a jagged wall of rock and
bush that led to the roiling waters several hundred feet below. His vision
at the far side was clear; he stared at the end of the beam of light. Some
part of the foliage he had raced through had snapped, and the blond killer
was standing motionless with the flashlight in his band. Gradually his
attention waned: an animal or a night bird, he judged; there was no human
being to be seen.
Above, the clattering track neared the midpoint of the bridge. There he
wasl Less than seventy feet away, he leaned over the rail, his head huddled
deep in the collar of his heavy jacket. The clanging was thunderous now,
the echoes full, as the backup executioner was caught in the glare of the
headlights. Havelock spun around on the bouIder, steadying his feet on the
flanking rocks. There would be no more than a second to make the decision,
no more than two or three to fire the magnum during the short space of time
when the rear of the van would block the view from the booths at the
entrance. Full of uncertainty, Michael pulled the heavy weapon from his
belt and braced his arm against the boulder, his feet anchored by pressure,
his left hand gripping his right wrist to steady the barrel that was aimed
diagonally above. He had to be sure; he could not risk the night and
everything the night stood for. But if the odds were his ...
They were. As the hood of the van passed the man he stood up, now
silhouetted in the back light, a large immobile target. Havelock fired four
rounds in rapid succession in concert with the deafening clatter on the
bridge. The support killer arched backward, then sank down into the shadows
of the solid steel barricade of the pedestrian walk.
The clanging receded as the van reached the far side of the bridge. There
was no orange barrier across the entrance on the French side: francs had
been paid; the two guards leaning against a gatehouse wall smoked their
cigarettes. However, another sound intruded, it came from behind, quite far
behind, down the road from MonesL Michael
TnE PA:aswAL MosArc187
curved his spine into the surface of the rock and slid back into the edge of
the woods, crouching instantly, shoving the warm magnum under his belt. He
glanced through the trees at the checkpoint; the two authentic soldiers in
the nearest gatehouse on the right could be seen beyond the large glass
windows, nodding at each other as if counting something in their hands-lire
bad reached the second level. The blond impostor was outside, an outsider as
far as the current transaction was concerned; he was staring down the road,
squinting in the dim light.
He raised his hand to the midpoint of his chest and shook his wrist
twice-an innocuous gesture, a man restoring circulation to a forearm
strained by carrying too much weight too recently. It was a signal.
The killer brought his hand down to his right hip, and it took no
imagination to realize be was releasing the snap on his holster while
keeping his concentration on the road below. Havelock crept rapidly through
the woods until he reached the unconscious figure of the explosives
specialist. The sound of a motor grew louder, joined now by a faint,
bass-toned hum in the farther distance-a second vehicle steadily increasing
its speed. Michael parted the thick branches of an overhanging pine and
looked to his left. Several hundred yards down the road the glistening
grille of a large automobile could be seen, reflecting the light from the
bridge. It swung into the curve; the car was a IAncia. It was Jennal
Havelock imposed a control over his mind and body he had not thought was
possible. The next few minutes would bring into play everything he bad
learned-that no one should ever have to learn-since he was a child in
Prague, every skill he had absorbed from the shadow world in which he had
lived so long.
The Lancia sedan drew nearer, and sharp bolts of pain shot through Micbaers
chest as he stared at the windshield. Jenna was not there. Instead, two men
could be seen in the wash of the dashboard, the driver smoking, his
companion apparently talking garrulously, waving his hands for emphasis.
Then the driver turned his bead sideways, addressing a remark to someone in
the back seat. The Lancia. began to slow down; it was within two hundred
feet of the checkpoint.
The blond impostor at the orange barrier turned and
188 RoBLrRT LuDLum
walked quickly to the gatehouse booth; be knocked on the window, then
pointed to the approaching vehicle and then to himself. He was the eager
recruit telling his veteran superiors that he could handle the immediate
assignment. The two soldiers looked up, annoyed at the intrusion, perhaps
wandering if the intruder had seen money changing hands; they nodded, waving
him away.
Instead of leaving immediately, the assassin employed by Rome reached into
his pocket and took out an object while moving unobtrusively toward the
closed door of the booth. He reached down and inserted the object into the
frame below the window, the movements of his shoulders indicating that he
used considerable force. Havelock tried to imagine what it was, what the
killer was doing. And then it was clear; the door of the booth was a
sliding door, but it would not slide now. Ile man called Ricci bad wedged
a thin steel plate with small angled spikes into the space between frame
and paneL- the. door was jammed. The more force that was used to open it,
the deeper the tiny spikes would embed themselves, until all movement would
be impossible. The two soldiers were trapped Inside, and as with
checkpoints everywhere-no matter how minor-the booth was sturdily con-
structed with thick glass in the windows. Yet there was a fallacy: a simple
call to the barracks somewhere on the other side would bring assistance.
Michael peered through the dim light above the gatebouse, and saw there was
no fallacy. Dangling from the limb of a tree was a beavy-gauge telephone
wire; It had been severed. The killers from Rome controlled the checkpoint.
The blond man strode to the metal plank that separated the road from the
entrance to the bridge, assumed a military stance-the feet apart, the left
band at his waist, the right held up in the "Half position-and faced the
oncoming sedan.
The Lancia came to a stop. The front windows were rolled down and passports
were offered by the two men in the front seat The killer walked to the
driver's window
and spoke quietly-too quietly for Havelock to bear the
words-while looking past the driver into the rear seat.
The driver was explaining something and turned to his cQmpaWon for
confirmation. The second man leaned across the seat, nodding his head, then
shaking it, as if in sorrow.
THE PARSIFAL MOSAIC189
Ile false guard stood back and spoke louder, with a soldier's authority.
'Regrets, signori and signora," he said in Italian. "Tonighes regulations
require that all passengers step out of their automobiles while they are
examined."
"But we were assured that we could proceed across Into Col des Moulinets as
rapidly as possible, Caporale,, protested the driver, raising his voice.
"The dear woman buried her husband less than two hours ago. She is
distraught.... Here are her papers, her passport. Ours also. Everything is
in order, I can assure you. We are expected for an eight o'clock mass. She
is from a fine family, a Franco-Italian marriage tragically ended by a
dreadful accident. The mayors of both Monesi and Moulinets were at the
funeral-2'
"Regrets, signore," repeated the killer. "Please, step out. There is a
truck behind you and it is not right for you to hold up the line."
Havelock tamed his bead, looking at the run-down truck with the powerful
engine. There was no one inside. Instead, the two men were on opposite
shoulders of the road, dressed in mountain clothes, their eyes scanning the
country road and the woods, their hands in their pockets. Backups for
backups, support for support. The border belonged to the unit from Rome,
secure in its knowledge that no one could pass through without being seen,
and if the target was seen, the target would die.
And if he was not seen? Would the secondary order hold? Would the secondary
target-the bait-be elin-dnated in Col des Moulinets because she was no
longer feasible bait? The answer was as painful for Michael to admit to
himself as it was self-evident. She bad to be. She did not eieA her exis-
tence was too dangerous for the liars who gave orders to strategists and
embassies alike. The unit would return to Rome without Its primary kill,
the only loser an agent of record who had not been apprised of the
Robert Ludlum - The Parcifal Mosaic.txt Page 24
