Robert Ludlum - The Parcifal Mosaic.txt

by The Parcifal Mosaic [lit]

  Prague. Was Havelock part of Matthias's plans or not? Was he a willing

  player following orders, pretending to do what others would call perfectly

  understandable, or was he the unknowing victim of a terrible manipulation?

  We had to find out."

  "We did find out," protested Addison Brooks quietly, indignantly. "At the

  clinic in Virginia. He was probed with everytbing doctors and laboratories

  can probe with, he knew absolutely nothing. As you said, we were back to

  the original scenario, completely in the dark ourselves. Why did Matthias

  want him out? les the unanswered, perhaps now unanswerable, question. When

  we understood that, we should have told Havelock the truth."

  "We coul&1." The undersecretary leaned back in the chair. "Jenna Karas had

  disappeared; we had no idea whether she was alive or dead. Under the

  circumstances Havelock would have raised questions that cannot be raised

  outside the Oval Office-or a room like this."

  "Questions," added the President of the United States, 'which, if exposed,

  would plunge the world into a global nuclear war in a matter of hours. If

  the Soviets or the Peoples Republic of China knew this government is out of

  control, ICBM's would be launched from both hemispheres, a thousand

  submarines poised in both oceans for secondary tactical

  strikes-obliteration. And we are out of oontroL"

  Silence.

  246 RoBERT LunLum

  -Mere~s someone rd like you to meet," said Bradford finally. "I had him

  flown in from an Alpine pass called Col. des Moulinets. He's out of

  Rome."

  "Nuclear war," whispered the President, as he pressed the button on the

  huge, curved desk, and the screen went dark.

  16

  Havelock drew two lines through the seventeenth and eighteenth names on the

  list, hung up the telephone on the wall and left the shabby caf6 in

  Montmartre. Two calls per phone were all he permitted himself. Sophisticated

  electronic scanners could pick up a location in a matter of minutes, and

  should any of those he reached be patched into equipment at the American

  embassy, it would be no different from his calling the Paris conduit of Cons

  Op and setting the time for his own execution. Two calls per phone, each

  phone a minimum of six blocks from the previous one, no conversation lasting

  more than ninety seconds. He had gone through half the list, but now the

  rest of the names would have to wait. It was nearly nine o'clock, the gaudy

  lights of Montmartre battered the streets with frenzied emptions of color

  that matched the frantic cacophony of the districes nighttime revels. And he

  was to meet Gravet in an alley off the Rue Norvins. The art critic bad spent

  the afternoon tracking down anyone and everyone in his peculiar world who

  might have knowledge of jenna Karas.

  In a way, so had Michael, but his initial work had been cerebral. He had

  retrieved his clothes from a M6tro locker, purchased basic toiletries, a

  note pad and a ball-point pen, and taken a room at a cheap hotel around the

  comer from La Couronne Nouvelle. He reasoned that if the wounded 247

  248 RoBERT LUDLUM

  V3M officer raised help, he would not think to send his VU. ers down the

  street for the target. Havelock had shaved and bathed, and now lay on the

  decrepit bed, his body resting but not his mind. He had gone back in time,

  disciplining his memory, recalling every moment he and Jenna had shared in

  Paris. He had approached the exercise academically, as a graduate student

  might doggedly follow a single development chronologically through a chaotic

  period In history. He and jenna, jenna and he; where they had gone, what

  they had seen, whom they had spoken with, all in order of se. quence. Each

  place and scene had a location and a reason for their being there; finally,

  each face that had any meaning had a name, or if not a specific name, the

  identity of someone who knew him or her.

  After two hours and forty minutes of probing, he had sat up, reached for

  the note pad and pen he had placed on a bedside chair, and had begun his

  list. A half hour later It was complete-as complete as his memory

  permitted-and he had relaxed, back on the bed, knowing that the much needed

  sleep would come. He knew also that the clock in his mind would awaken him

  when daylight ended. It did. And minutes later he was out in the streets6

  going from one telephone booth to another, one caf6 with a ThAmoNz sign in

  the window to the next, each instrument six blocks away from the last.

  He began the conversations quickly but casually, and kept his ears primed

  to pick up any telltale signs of alarm in the responses. In each case his

  approach was the same; he was to have met Jenna that noon at the Meurice

  bar, each having flown into Paris from a different city, but his plane had

  been hours late. And since jenna had mentioned the person's name

  frequently-fondness Implied-Michael wondered If she had called him or her,

  perhaps looking for an afternoon companIon In a city she barely knew.

  Most were mildly surprised to hear from Havelock, es

  pecially so casually, and even more surprised that jenna

  Karas would have remtheir names, much less hav

  Ing recalled them with affection; they were by and large only

  brief acquaintances. However, in no Instance was there the

  slightest hesitation other than the normal caution required

  when confronted with the unexpected. Eighteen names.

  Nothing. Where had she gone? Mlhat was she &Ing? She

  7'RE PARSWAL MOSATC249

  could not go underground in Paris, not without his finding her; she bad to

  know that. Christ, where are youP

  He reached the Rue Ravignan and began the steep ascent up the Montmartre

  bill, passing the dark old houses that were once the homes of legends, and

  emerging on the small square that was the Place C16ment, be started down

  the Rue Norvins. The street was crowded, the revels of would-be Bobemians

  fueled by the genuine residents who dressed their roles and later went home

  to count their profits. The alley Gravet had described was just before the

  narrow Rue des Saules; he could see the break in the row of ancient build-

  ings up ahead and walked faster.

  'Me old brick alleyway was dark and empty. The ersatz Bohemians knew there

  were limits to their pretense that they belonged in Montmartre; a mugging

  on the sacred bill of martyrs was little different from a taped iron pipe

  in Sobo or the East Village. Havelock went inside, his right hand in-

  stinctively edging toward the break in his jacket and belt where the magnum

  was awkwardly in place. Gravet was late, a discourtesy the critic himself

  found abhorrent. What had happened?

  Michael found a shadowed doorway in the dimly lit thoroughfare; he leaned

  against the brick frame, took out a cigarette and struck a match. As he

  cupped the flame his mind leaped back to the Palatine" to a book of matches

  and a man who had tried to save.his life, not take it. A dying man who had

  died only moments later, knowing there was betrayal at the highest levels

  of his government.

  There was a sudden commotion out on the Rue Norvins, a brief flare-up o
f

  tempers as two men collided. Then a tall, slender man stood momentarily

  erect, and let forth a stream of invective in French. His much younger,

  stockier adversary made a sullen comment about the man's ancestry and moved

  along. The injured party smoothed his lapels, turned to his left and

  entered the alley. Gravet had arrived, not without his customary &n.

  "Merdel" the critic spat out, seeing Havelock walk out of the shadows into

  the dim light. "It's those filthy, ragged field jackets they wearl You just

  know they dribble when they eat and their teeth are yellow. God knows when

  they last bathed or spoke civilly. Sorry to be late."

  fesonly a few minutes. I just got hem- 250 ROBERT LunLum

  "I'm late. I intended to be in the Rue Norvins a half hour ago to make sure

  you weren't followed."

  "I wasn't."

  "Yes, you'd know that, wouldn't you?"

  "I'd know. What kept you?"

  "A young man I've cultivated who works in the catacombs of the Quai d'Ors

  ly'

  "You're honest.

  "And you misinterpret." Gravet moved to the wall, turning his bead back and

  forth, looking at both entrances of the alley; he was satisfied. "Since you

  called after your business at the Couronne Nouvelle-a call, incidentally,

  I wasn't sure you~d ever make-I've been in touch with every conceivable

  contact who might know something about a lone woman in Paris looking for

  sanctuary, or papers, or secret transportation, and no one could help. It

  was really quite illogical; after all, there are only so many sources of

  illegal machinations, and precious few I'm not aware of. I even checked the

  Italian districts, thinking her escorts from Col des Moulinets might have

  provided her with a name or two. Nothing. . . . Then it occurred to me.

  Illegal efforts? Perhaps I was searching in the wrong areas. Perhaps,

  instead, such a woman might seek more legitimate assistance, without

  necessarily detailing her illegitimate reasons. After all, she was an

  experienced field operative. She bad to know-or know of-certain personnel

  in allied governments if only through you."

  "The Quai d~Orsay."

  "Naturellenient. But the undersides, the catacombs, where distinctly

  unpublicized conveniences had to exist for you."

  "If they did, Im not aware of them. I crossed paths with a number of people

  in the ministries but I never heard of the catacombs."

  "London's Foreign Office calls them Clearing Centres. Your own State

  Department refers to them less subtly. Division of Diplomatic Transfers."

  "Immunity," said Havelock. "Did you find something?"

  "My young friend spent the last several hours tracing it down. I told him

  the timing was advantageously narrow. If anything happened, it could only

  have happened today. So he returned to his little cave after the dinner

  hour on some pretext or other and riffled through the days security

  dupli-

  THE PARsiFAL MosAic251

  cates. He thinks he may have found it, but he caet be certain and neither

  can 1. However, you might be able to make the connection.*

  "What is it?"

  "At ten-forty-five this morning there was a memorandum from the Minist6re

  des Affaires Etrang6res ordering up an open identity. Subject: white

  female, early thirties, languages: Slavic, Russian, Serbo-Croatian, cover

  name and statistics requested immediately. Now, I realize there are

  dozens--"

  '"What section at the ministry?" interrupted Havelock.

  "Four. Section Four."

  "R6gine Broussac," said Havelock. "Madame R6gine Broussac. First Assistant

  Deputy, Section Four."

  "That's the connection. It's the name and signature on the request."

  "Shes twenty-ninth on my list, twenty-ninth out of thirtyone. We saw her-I

  saw her-for less than a minute on the street almost a year ago. I barely

  introduced Jenna. It doeset make sense; she hardly knows her, doe8n~t know

  her."

  "Were the circumstances of your seeing her a year ago notable?"

  "I suppose so. One of their people was a double agent at the French embassy

  in Bonn; he made periodic flights to the East by way of Luckenwalde. We

  found him on the wrong side of Berlin. At a meeting of the Geheimdienst."

  'Me Moscow puppees offspring of the S.S. I'd say quite notable." Gravet

  paused, unfolding his hands. "This Broussac. Shes an older woman, isn't

  she? Years ago a heroine of the R6sistance?"

  "She and her husband, yes. He was taken by the Gestapo; what they found of

  him wasn7t pleasant~"

  "But she carried on."

  "Yes."

  "Did you, perhaps, tell any of this to your friendr

  Havelock thought back as he drew on the cigarette, then dropped it,

  crushing it underfoot. "Probably. B.6gines not always easy to take; she can

  be abrupt, caustic, some call her a bitch, but sVs not. She had to be

  tough."

  "Then let me ask you another question, the answer to which rm vaguely

  familiar with, but it's based merely on rumor; nothing rve read that

  pretended to be official." The

  252 RoBERT LuDLum

  critic folded his hands again. "What prompted your friend to do what she

  did, to live the sort of life she led with you, and obviously before you?"

  "1968," replied Havelock flatly.

  "The Warsaw-bloc invasion?"

  "The ct;rh# den of August. The black days. Her parents had died, and she

  was living in Ostrava with her two older brothers, one married. Both were

  Dub6ek activists, the younger a student, the older an engineer who was

  forbidden any meaningful work by the Novotn~ regime. When the tanks rolled

  in, the younger brother was killed in the streets, the older one rounded up

  by advance Soviet troops for 'interrogation.' He was crippled for life-arms

  and legs-totally helpless. He blew his brains out and his wife disappeared.

  Jenna traveled to Prague, where no one knew her, and went underground. She

  knew whom to reach, what she wanted to do."

  Gravet nodded; his face looked drawn even in the dim light. "The people who

  do what you do, quietly, so efficiently, you all have different stories,

  yet common themes run through them. Violence, pain . . . loss. And genuine

  revenge.

  "What did you expect? Only ideologues can afford to shout; we've generally

  got other things on our minds. It's why we're sent in first. It doesn't

  take much to make us efficient."

  "Or to recognize one another, I imagine."

  "Under certain circumstances, yes. We don't make too much of it. What's

  your point?"

  "Me Broussac woman. Your friend from the Costa Brava would remember her. A

  husband, brothers, pain, loss ... a woman alone. Such a woman would

  remember another woman who carried on."

  "She obviously did, I just wouldn't have thought so." Havelock nodded

  silently. "You're right," he said quietly. "nanks for giving it

  perspective. Of course she wouU"

  "Be careful, Michael."

  "Of what?"

  "Genuine revenge. There has to be a sympathie between them. She could turn

  you over to your own, trap you."

  "I'll be careful; so will she. What else can you tell me about the

&nb
sp; memorandiun? Was a destination mentionedr

  DIE PARSrFAL MOSAIC253

  "No, she could be going anywhere. That will be set at Affaires Etrang6res

  and kept quiet."

  "What about her cover? A name?"

  "That was processed and beyond my young fiiend's eyes,

  at least this evening. Perhaps tomorrow he can pry into ffies

  that are locked tonight." I

  "Too late. You said the memorandum asked for an immediate response. That

  passpores been mocked up and issued. She's on her way out of France. I have

  to move quickly."

  "What's one day? Twelve hours from now perhaps we can find a name. You call

  the airlines on an emergency basis and they check their manifests. Youll

  know where sVs gone."

  "But not how."

  "Je ne comprends pas."

  "Broussac. If she's done this much for Jenna, shell do more. She wouldn't

  leave her on her own at an airport somewhere. Arrangements were made. I

  have to know what they are."

  "And you think shell tell you?"

  "She has to." Havelock buttoned his loose-f1tting jacket and pulled the

  lapels up around his neck. The alley was a tunnel for the damp breezes from

  below, and there was a chill. "One way or the other, she has to tell me.

  Thanks, Gravet, I owe you."

  'Yes, you do."

  "III see Broussac tonight and leave in the morning . . . one way or the

  other. But before I go, there's a bank here in Paris where Ive got a safety

  deposit box; III clean it out and leave an envelope for you at the vault

  cage. Call it part payment. Ies the Banque Germaine on the Avenue George

  Cinq.-

  "You~re most considerate, but is it wise? In all modesty, rm something of

  a public f1gure and must be careful in my associations. Someone there might

  know you."

  "Not by any name you've ever beard of."

  "Then what name shall I use?"

  "None. just say the 'gentleman from Texas; he's left an envelope for you.

  If it makes you feel any better, say you've never met me. I'm negotiating

  a painting for an anonymous buyer in Houston."

  "And if there are complications?"

  254 RoBEiRT LuDLum

  "There won't be. You know where rm going tonight, and, by extension,

  tomorrow."

  "At the last, we're professionals, aren't we, Michael?"

  "I wouldn~t have it any other way. It's cleaner." Havelock extended his