forty-plus degree points; the valley winds had been studied for maximum
lift. The airfield was in a valley, sufficiently wide and long for small
jets as well as prop aircraft--used by the rich who have estates in
Roquebilli&e and Breil.
Havelock kept the accelerator on the floor, his left foot grazing the brake
for those instants when balance was in jeopardy. The road leveled out and
became a flat track that circled the fenced-off airfield. Within the
enormous compound were the vivid reflections of glistening wings and fuse-
lages; perhaps a dozen stationary planes were moored to the ground in
varying positions off the runways-the yachts of yesterday had been replaced
by silver tubes that sailed
THE PARSWAL MOSMC 1197
through the skies. The ten-foot-high hurricane fence was strung with barbed
wire across the top and angled an additional four feet inside. The rich of
Roquebflli&e and Breil cared for their airborne possessions. Such a fence-a
double mile in length--caMed a price of several hundred thousand dollars;
and that being the case, would there be a security gate and guards somewhat
more attentive than the French and Italian military?
There were. He screeched into the entrance roadway. The heavy ten-foot gate
was closing three hundred feet in front of him. Inside, the Lancia was
racing across the field. Suddenly its lights were extinguished; somewhere
within the expanse of grass and asphalt its driver had spotted a plane.
Ughts would reveal markings, and markings were traces; if he could see the
Landa!s headlights several miles away in the darkness of the valley, his,
too, could be seen. There were only seconds and half-seconds now, each
minuscule movement of a clock narrowing the final gulf or widening it.
While gripping the wheel, he Jammed the pahns of both hands on the rim of
the truck's horn, hammering out the only alarm code that came to him:
Mayday, Mayda% Maydayl He repeated it over and over again as he sped down
the entrance drive toward the closing gate.
Two uniformed guards were inside the fence, one pushing the thick metal
crossbar of the gate, the other standing by the latch, prepared to receive
the sliding bar and insert the clamp. As the gate reached the three-quarter
mark, both guards stared through the wire mesh at the powerful truck
bearing down on them; the blaring series of notes was not lost on them.
Their terrified faces showed they had no intention of staying in the path
of the wild vehicle about to crash into their post. The guard at the
crossbar released it and ran to his left; the gate swung back
partially-only partiallywhen he withdrew his grip. The man by the latch
scrambled to his right, diving into the grass and the protection of the
extended fence.
The impact came, the truck ripping the gate away, twisting it up off its
hinges and smashing it into the small booth, shattering glass and severing
an electrical wire that erupted in sparks and static. Michael raced the
truck onto the field, his wounded shoulder pitched in pain; the truck
careened sharply, narrowly missing two adjacent planes parked in the
198 RoBERT LunLum
shadows of a single wide hangar. He spun the wheel to his left, sending the
truck in the direction the Lancia had been heading less than a minute ago.
Nothing. Absolutely nothingl Where was it? Where was It?
A flicker of light. Movement-at the far end of the field, beyond the
glowing yellow lines of the north runway, slightly above the farthest
ground row. The cabin of a plane had been opened, an interior light snapped
briefly on, then instantly turned off. He whipped the wheel to the
right-blood from his wrenched wounded shoulder spreading through his
shirt--and raced diagonally across the enormous compound; heavy,
weatherproof bulbs exploded under the tires as he sped toward the now
darkened area where seconds ago there had been the dim flash of light.
There it wasl Not a let, but a twin-engine, single-wing, its propellers
suddenly revving furiously, flames belching from its exhausts. It was not
on the runway but beyond the glow of the parallel lines of yellow lights;
the pilot was about to taxi into the takeoff position. But he was not
moving now; he was holdingl
The Lancia. It was behind and to the right of the plane. Again, a lightl
Not from the aircraft now, but from the Lancia itself. Doors opened,
figures leaped out, dashing for the plane. The cabin door, another lightl
For an instant Michael considered ramming the fuselage or crashing into the
nearest wing, but it could be a tragic error. if he struck a fuel tank, the
aircraft would blow up in seconds. He swerved the heavy truck to the right,
then to the left, and screeching to a stop yards in front of the plane, he
leaped out.
enna 0
e was climbing on board, pushed up the steps by the driver of the Lancia,
who followed her inside and closed the door. He ran, oblivious to
everything but her, he had to stop herl The plane spun in place like a
grotesque, dark cormorant. Its path was fi-ee of the Lancial
Ile blow came out of the shadows, muffled and at the same time magnified by
the furious winds of the propellees wash. His head snapped back as his legs
buckled, blood matting the hair above his right temple. He was on his
knees, supporting himself with his hands, staring up at the plane, at the
window of the moving plane, and he could not movel
TIM PAWIFAL MOSAIC199
The cabin lights remained on for several seconds and he saw her face in the
glass, her eyes staring back at him. It'was a sight he would remember for as
long as he lived ... if he lived. A second blow with a blunt instrument was
delivered to the back of his neck.
He could not think about the terrible sight now, about her nowl He could
hear the sirens screaming across the field, see the glue of searchlights
shooting over the runway, catching the glistening metal of the plane as it
sped clown between the yellow lights. The man who had struck him twice was
running toward the Lancia; he had to movel He had to move 1WW1 or he would
not be permitted to live, permitted ever to see her again. He struggled to
his feet as he pulled the Llama automatic from under his jacket.
He fired twice above the roof of the sedan; the man leaping into the seat
could have killed him moments ago; he would not kill that man now. His
hands were too unsteady, the flashing, sweeping lights too bewildering to
ensure inflicting only a wound. But he had to have the car. He fired again,
the bullet ricocheting off the metal as he approached the window.
"Get out or you're deadl" be shouted, gripping the door handle. "You heard
what I saidl Get outi" Havelock yanked. the man by the cloth of his coat
and pulled him, propelling him onto the grass. There was no time for a
dozen questions he wanted to ask. He had to escapel He slid behind the
wheel and slarnmed the door shut; the motor was running.
For the next forty-five seconds he crisscrossed the airfield at enormous
speeds, evading the airfield's security police by weaving in and out of
>
searchlight beams. A dozen times he nearly crashed into stationary aircraft
before reaching the demolished gate. He raced through, not seeing the road,
functioning only on nerves and instinct.
He could not shut out the terrible sight of Jenna's face in the window of
the moving plane. In Rome her face had shown raw fear and confusion.
Moments ago there had been something else; it was in her eyes.
Cold~ immaculate hatred.
13
He drove southwest to Provence, then due south toward the coast, to the
small city of Cagnes-sur-Mer. He had worked the northern Mediterranean for
years and knew a doctor between Cagnes and Antibes; he needed help. He had
ripped the sleeve of his shirt and tied a knot around the wound in his
shoulder, but it did not prevent the loss of blood. His entire chest was
soaked, the cloth sticking to his skin, and there was the sweet-acrid odor
that he knew only too well. His neck was merely bruised-a paramedical
opinion that in no way diminished the pain-but the blow to his head required
stitches; the slightest graze would reopen the laceration that was sealed
with barely coagulated blood.
He needed other help, too, and Dr. Hend Salanne would provide ft. He had to
reach Matthias; to delay any longer was asinine. Specific identities could
be traced from orders, from a code name, Ambiguity; there was enough
information. Surface evidence of the massive conspiracy was clear from
jenna's having survived Costa Brava-when she had been officially recorded
as dead-and his own condemnation as "beyond salvage." The first Matthias
would accept from his phtele, the second could be confirmed from sealed
black-bordered directives in the files of Consular Operations. Granted the
whys were beyond Havelock's reach, but not the facts-they existed, and
Matthias could act on them. And 200
THE PARSIFAL MOSAIC201
while the Secretary of State acted, Michael had to get to Paris as quickly
as possible. It would not be simple; every airport, highway and train
station in Provence and the Marftimes would be watched, and Matthias could
do nothing about it. Time and communications were on the side of the liars.
Issuing covert orders was far easier then rescinding them; they d ead k eb
k ft pa er' as the
Ilome
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lives. All network personnel are on alert; we every source,
every weapon available. Zero area. Cot des Moulinets. Ra
dius: Maximum two hours' travel, reported to be wounded.
Lad known vehicles: A nondescript farm truck with a power
ful engine, and a Lancla sedan. Find him. Kill him.
No doubt the liars on the Potomac had already reached Salanne but as with
so many in the shadow world, there were hidden confidences-things in and of
his past-that those who cleared payrolls in Washington or Rome or Paris
knew nothing about. And for drones such as Dr. Henri Salanne, only certain
men ka the field who had been on a given scene at a given time knew them,
and stored away their names for future personal use should the necessity
ever arise. There was even a vague morality about this practice, for more
often than not the incriminating information or the events themselves were
the result of a temporary crisis or a weakness that did not require that
the man or the woman be destroyed-or killed.
With Salanne, Havelock had been there when it happened-to be precise,
eleven hours after the act took place, time enough to alter the
consequences. The doctor had sold out an American agent in Cannes who
coordinated a small fleet of oceangoing pleasure craft for the purpose of
monitoring Soviet naval positions in the sector. Salanne had sold him for
money to a KGB informant, and Michael had not understood, neither money nor
betrayal was a motive that made sense where the doctor was concerned. it
took only one lowkey confrontation to learn the truth, and it was a
truth-or a ftmtaposition of truths-as old as the grotesque world in
202 ROBERT LUDLUM
which they all lived. The gentle if somewhat cynical middleaged doctor was
a compulsive gambler, it was the primary reason why years ago a brilliant
young surgeon from L'116pital de Paris had sought out a practice In the
Monte Carlo triangle. His credentials and references were honored in Monaco,
which was a good thing, but his losses at the casino were not.
Enter the American, whose cover was that of a yacht-ownIng jet-setter, and
who spent the taxpayers' money cautiously but obnoxiously at the tables.
His obnoxiousness, however, did not end at chemin de fer; he was a
womanizer with a preference for young girls, an image, he rationalized,
that did nothing to harm his cover. One of the girls he brought to his busy
bed was Salanne's daughter, Claudie, an impressionable child who suffered
a severe depression when nothing further came of the relationship.
The Soviets were in the market; the doctor's losses could be covered, and
a preying coureur removed from the scene. PourqfK4 pas? The act had taken
place.
Enter Havelock, who had traced the betrayal, got the American out before
the boats were identified, and confronted Henri Salanne. He never reported
his findings; there was no point, and the doctor understood the conditions
of his 'pardon." Never again ... and an obligation was assumed.
Michael found a telephone booth at a deserted comer in the downtown
district of Cagnes-sur-Mer. He braced himself with difflaft, and got out of
the car, clutching his jacket around him as he stood up; be was cold,
bleeding still. Inside the booth, he pOed out the Llama from his holster,
smashed the overhead light, and studied the dial in the shadows. After what
seemed like an interminable wait, he was given Salanne's number by Antibes
information.
'Votrer f&, Claudio, comment va-t-elleP" be asked quietly.
There was dead silence. Finally the doctor spoke, his use of English
deliberate. "I wondered if I'd hear from you. If it k you, they say you may
be hurt."
"I am."
"How badly?"
"I need cleaning up and a few sutures. That's all, I think."
'Nothing internal?"
"Not that I can tell."
'I hope you're right. A hospital would be in questionable
Tim PARsxFAL Mosme203
taste right now. I suspect all emergency rooms in the area are being
watched."
Michael was suddenly alarmed. "What about you?"
"Theres only so much manpower. They won't waste it on someone they assume
would rather see ten patients die on an operating table than be cut off
from their generosity."
/> Would your
"Lees halve it," said Salanne, laughing softly. "In spite of my habits, my
conscience couldn't take more than five." The doctor paused but not long
enough for Havelock to speak. "However, there could be a problem. They say
yoiere driving a medium-sized truck-2'
"I'm not."
"Or possibly a dark gray Lancia sedan," continued Salanne. &I am."
"Get rid of it, or get away from it."
Michael looked at the large automobile outside the booflL The engine bad
overheated; steam was escaping from the radiator, vapor rising and
diffusing under the light of the streetlamp. All this was calling attention
to the car. "rm not sure how far I can walk" he said to the doctor.
"Loss of blood?"
'Enough so I can feel it."
'Merdel Where are you?"
Havelock told him. Tve been here befom but I can't xen her much."
"Disorientation or absence of impressionsr
"What difference does it maker
Wood,"
"I feel dizzy, if thaes what you mean."
wit is. I think I know the comer. Is there a bifouterk on the other side?
Called something and Son?"
Michael squinted through glass beyond the Lancia. 'Ariale et Fflsr he said,
reading the raised white letters of a sign above a dark storefront across
the street. " Tine Jewelry. Watches, Diamonds! Is that it?"
"Ariale, of course. Irve had good nights, too, you know. TheYre much more
reasonable than the thieves in the Sp6lugueg. Now then, several shops north
of Ariale is an alley that leads to a small parking lot behind the stores.
ru get there as fast as I can, twenty minutes at the outside. I donI care
to race through the streets under the circumstances."
W4RoBLKRT LUDLUM
"Please don't."
"Nor should you. Walk slowly, and if there are automobiles parked there,
crawl under one and lie flat on your back. When you see me arrive, strike
a match. As little movement as possible, is that understoodP"
~Understood."
Havelock left the booth, but before crossing the street, he opened his
jacket, pulled the blood-soaked shirt out of his belt and squeezed it until
drops of dark red appeared on the pavement. Leaning over, he took a dozen
rapid steps straight ahead past the corner building into the shadows,
scuffing the blood with the soles of his shoes, streaking it backwards;
Robert Ludlum - The Parcifal Mosaic.txt Page 26
