gun as the intruder approached the final three stalls. He was angry but
bewildered-the weapon was a Graz-Burya. The Russian bent over. . .
Now. Michael threw his rolled-up suit jacket over the side of the stall on
his right. The sound made the Russian leap up, spinning to his left, his
gun raised.
In simultaneous movements Havelock grabbed the handle of his suitcase and
yanked the door open, then swung the heavy luggage in a lateral are toward
the gray-faced man. He reached for the Graz-Burya with his left hand and
tore it out of the man's hand. The Russian spun away, his powerful arms
blocking Havelock, Michael used them-he locked
TbE PAnswAL MosAic317
the man's left arm under his right, wrenched it forward until the Russian's
face was stretched in pain, then he pried the weapon loose and crashed the
barrel into the man's head. As the Russian started to fall, Havelock
crouched and jammed his shoulder into the man~s kidney, propelling him back
into the row of urinals.
The gray-faced man fell to his knees, supporting himself on his right hand
and holding his left arm across his chest in pain. He gasped for breath,
shaking his head. "Nyet, nyet," he choked. "Talk onlyl Only talk."
"With the door as good as locked and a gun in your hand?"
"Would you have agreed to a conversation if I had come up and introduced
myself? In Russian, perhaps?"
"You should have tried me."
"You did not stay still long enough ... May I?" The Russhin leaned back on
his knees, holding his arm and raising one leg as he requested permission
to stand.
"Go ahead," said Havelock, the Craz-Burya steady in his hand. "You were
trying to make a phone call."
"Certainly. To relay word that you had been found. What would you have
done? Or I don7t know, perhaps I should not ask.-
"What do you know? How did you find me?" Michael raised the gun, aiming it
at the man~s head. "rd advise you to tell me the truth. I haven't got a
thing to lose with your corpse in here."
The Russian stared at the barrel and then at Havelocies eyes. "No, you have
nothing to lose; you would not hesitate. A younger man should have been
sent out here."
"How did you know rd be on that plane?"
"I didn't. No one knows anywhere. . . . A VKR officer was shot in Paris; he
had nowhere to tam but to us."
"An importing firm on the BeaumarchaisP" interrupted Michael. "KGB
headquarters, Paris?'
The Russian overlooked the interruption. "We knew you had connections
throughout the French government. Military intelligence, the Quai d'Orsay,
the Deputies. if it was your intention to leave France, there was only one
way you could do it. Diplomatic cover. All Air France flights listing
diplomatic personnel are being watched. Everywhere. London, Rome, Bonn,
Athens, the Netherlands,'all of South Amer-
318 RoBERT LUDLUM
lea-everywhere. It's my misfortune that you chose to come back here; it was
not expected. You are 'beyond salvage."'
That seems to be a well-publicized piece of information.
"It has been circulated in certain quarters."
Is that what you wanted to talk about? Because if it is, Moscow's wasting
a lot of man-hours in all those airports."
"I bring you a message from Pyotr Rostov. He believes that after Rome, you
might listen."
'RomP What about Rome?"
'Me Palatine. It would seem it was conclusive for you. You were meant to
die on the Palatine."
I "I was?" Havelock watched the maes eyes, the set of his lips. So Rostov
knew about the Palatine; it was to be expected. Bodies had been found there:
the corpse of a former American agent known for jugular operations and his
two wounded Italian drones who had nothing to lose and something to bargain
with by telling the truth. Certainly Moscow knew. But Rostov did not know
about Jerma Karas or Col des Moullnets, or he would have included them in
his opening lure. Under different circumstances it might have been necessary
for the words to have been shouted quickly: Jenna Kams is alivel Col des
Moulitwsl Both were far more persuasive. "What!s the message?"
"He says to tell you the baies been reconsidered. HEM take ft now and
thinks you should agree. He says he's not your enemy any longer, but others
are who may be his as well."
"What does that meanP"
"I caet answer you," said the man, his thick eyebrows motionless above his
deep-set peasant eyes. "Im merely the messenger. The substance is for you
to know, not me."
'You knew about the Palatine."
'Ile death of a maniac travels fast, especially if Vs your adversary-most
especially if he's killed a number of your friends.... What was the name
his own people gave him? The Gunslinger, I believe. A romantic figure from
your Western films, which, incidentally, I enjoy immensely. But in history
such a fellow was invariably a filthy, unprincipled pig, devoid of morals
or ideology, motivated solely by profit or pathological brutality. In these
times he might be the president of an enormous corporation, no?"
"Spare me. Save it for the state schools."
'Rostov would like a reply, but you doet have to give it
THE PAwiFAL MosAic319
at once. I can reach you. A day, two days-a few hours from now. You may name
the drop. We can get you out. To safety."
Again Michael studied the Russian~s face. Like Rostov in Athens before him,
the man was relaying the truth-as he knew the truth, and as be knew the
word of his superior in Moscow. "What does Rostov offer?"
"I told you. Safety. You know what's ahead of you here. The Palatine."
"Safety in exchange for what?"
"Thaes between you and Rostov. Why should I invent conditions? You would
not believe them."
"Tell Rostov he's wrong."
"About Rome? The Palatine?"
"The Palatine," said Havelock, wondering briefly if a KGB director ten
thousand miles away would perceive the essential truth within the larger
lie. 'I donI need the safety of the Lubyanka."
'You refuse his offer, then?"
"I refuse the bait."
There was a sudden thud against the men's-room door, followed by a muffled
voice swearing, then repeated banging against the metal panel. The strip of
wood wedged under the door scraped the tile; it gave less than an inch,
which was enough to make the intruder shout while continuing to pound,
"Hey, what the hell is thisl Open upl"
The Russian glanced at the door; Havelock did not. The man spoke rapidly:
"Should you change your mind, there is a row of trash cans in Bryant Park,
behind your Public Library. Place a red mark on the front of one of them-1
suggest a felt marker or, better yet, a spot of woman's nail polish. Then,
starting at ten oVock that same night,.walk north and south on Broadway,
between Forty-second and Fifty-thir-d streets, staying on the east-side
pavement. Someone will reach you, giving you the address of the contact. It
will be outside, naturally. No traps."
'Whaes going on in there? Fd Chrises sake, open this goddamned doorl
" .
I thought you said I could pick the drop."
"You may. Simply tell the man who reaches you where you want to meet. just
give us three hours."
"To sweep it?"
320 ROBERT LUDLUM
"Son of a bitchl Open upl" The metal door was smashed back several inches,
the strip of wood scratching against the tiles.
A second, authoritative voice joined that of the angry intrader. "All
right, whats this all about?"
"The door's jammedl I can~t get in, but I hear 'ern talkin't They jammed
the fuckin' doorl" Another crash, another screech, another inch.
'We take precautions, just as you do," said the Russian. "What's between
you and Rostov . . . is between you and Moscow. We are not in Moscow, I am
not in Moscow. I do not call for the police when rm in trouble in New York
rity..
"All right in therel" shouted the second voice in lower-regIster
officiousness. "Fair warning, you punksl Obstruction of normal
operating,procedures at an international airport constitutes a felony, and
that includes the tofletsl I'm calling Airport Securityl" The stem-toned
one addressed the angry intruder. "If I were you, rd find another men's
room. These kids use needles; they can get hopped up and pretty violent."
"rve gotta take one pisser of a leak, manl And they don7t sound like no
Idds- Theres a copl Hey, Fu=l"
"He can't hear you. He's walking past. I'll get to a phone."
"Shur
"Lees go," said Havelock, reaching down for his jacket and slipping it on.
"My life, then?" asked the Russian. "No corpse in a men7s room?"
"I want my reply delivered. Forget the nail polish on those trash cans."
'Ilen, if I may, my weapon, please?"
"rm not that charitable. You see, you are my enemy. You have been for a
long time."
"lies difficult to explain a missing weapon. You understand."
"Tell them you sold it on the open market; ies the first step in
capitalism. Buy cheap-or get it for nothing-and sell high. The Burya's a
good gun; it'd bring a large profit."
"Pkasel"
'You doet understand, comrade. You~d be surprised how many hustlers in
Moscow would respect you. Come oni" Havelock grabbed the man by the
shoulder, propelling him
THE PARMAL MOSAIC 321
toward the door. "Kick out the wood;" he ordered, shoving the weapon into
his belt and picking up his suitcase.
The Russian did as he was told. He pressed the side of his shoe on the
protruding wedge, moving It back and forth, as he pushed the door shut. The
wedge came loose; he swept it away with his foot and pulled the door open.
"Jesus Chtfstl" exclaimed an obese man in sky-blue overalIs. "A couple of
fuddn! fahiesl"
"They're comingl" yelled a shirt-sleeved man, running out of an office door
across the corridor.
"I think you're too late, Mr. Supervisor," said the wideeyed freight
employee, staring at Havelock and the Russian. "Here!re your fuckin! punks.
Two old queens who figured the parking lot was too cold."
"Leesgor whispered Havelock grabbing the Russiads elbow.
"Mgustingl Revoltingl" shouted the supervisor. "At your agel Have you no
shame? Perverts evmwherel"
'You won!t change your mind about the weapon?" asked the Russian, walking
breathlessly up the corridor, wincing as Michael gripped his damaged left
arm. *Tll be severely disciplined. I haven!t used It in years; ies really
a form of dress, you know.'
'Pervertsl You should all be in jail, not In public todetsl You!re a
menacer
'rm telling you, youll get a promotion if the right people think you made
a bundle."
"Faggotsr
"Let go of my arm. That idioes marking us.7
'Why? You!re adorable."
They reached the second hallway, turning left toward the center of the
terminal. There were, as before, men in overalls and shirt sleeves milling
about, watching an occasional searetary emerge Erom an office door. Up
ahead was the main corridor, crowds surging in both directions, toward
departing !gates and luggage areas.
In seconds they were swept Into the flow of arrivals. Seconds later a trio
of uniformed police could be seen breaking through the stream of departing
passengers, pushing aside shoulders and small suitcases and plastic garment
bags. Havelock switched sides with the Russian, yanking him to the left,
and as the police came parallel in the opposite aisle
322 ROBERT LUDLUM
Michael crashed his shoulder into his companion, pummeling him into a blue
uniform.
"Nyetl Kishkir yelled the Russian.
"Goddamn id" shouted the police officer as he plunged off balance to his
right, tripping one of his associates, who in turn fell on top of an
elderly blue-haired woman, who screamed.
Havelock accelerated his pace, threading his way past ,startled passengers
who were rushing toward an escalator on the right that led to the baggage
area, where they could retrieve their belongings. On the left was someone's
idea of a celestial arch, which led into the central terminal; he headed
toward it, walking faster still as the path became less congested. In the
terminal the bright afternoon sunlight streamed through the huge
floor-to-ceiling windows. He looked arourid as he went toward the eidt door
marked Taxis. There were rows of counters beneath panoplies of
white-lettered
=chedules, isolated slots constantly in motion; circular booths g
knickknacla and gewgaws were dotted about in the middle of the domelike
building. Along the walls were banks of telephones and indented racks of
telephone books. He veered toward the nearest one.
Thirty seconds later he found it: Handelman, J. The address was in upper
Manhattan, on 116th Street, Morningside Heights.
Jacob Handelman, halfway man, broker of sanctuary for the pursued and the
dispossessed. The man who would conceal jenna Karas.
"Stop over there," said Havelock, leaning forward in the seat and pointing
to a blue canopy emblazoned with a small gold crown and the name THE XXNGs
AWAS HOTEL across the scalloped valance. He hoped he would not have to spend
the night-each hour put greater distance between Jenna and himself-but on
the other hand, he could not walk around Columbia University, carrying even
a small suitcase while tracldng down Jacob Handelman. He had told the cab
driver to take the Triborough Bridge, heading west toward the Hudson and
south Into Morningside Heights; he wanted to pass the address on 116th, then
find a secure place to leave his higgage. It was midafternoon and the
halfway man could be anywhere within, the sprawling urban campus.
THE PARmAL MosAic 323
Michael had been to Columbia twice while a graduate student at Princeton,
once for a lecture on Europe after Napoleon delivered by a visiting bore
from Oxford, and the second time for an inter-graduate-school seminar on
university placement for budding Carl Schorskes. Neither occasion was
memorable, both were brief, and as a result, he really knew nothing about
the place. That was probably irrelevant, but the fact tha
t he knew
absolutely nothing about'Jacob Handelman was not.
The King's Arms was around the comer from HandelmaiYs apartment. It was one
of those small hotels that somehow manage to survive tastefully within the
environs of a city university, upper Manhattaes answer to the old Taft in
New Haven or, stretching a point, the Inn at Princeton-in essence, a campus
fixture, temporary quarters for visiting lecturers rather than an
undergraduate drinking spot. It had the appearance of dark-leather English
comfort and the smell of Academe. It was only an outside possibility, but
since the botel was so close to Handehnan!s residence, there was a chance
someone might know him.
"Certainly, Mr. Hereford," said the clerk, reading the registration card.
"Dr. Handelman stops in now and then-a little wine or dinner with friends.
A delightful gentleman, a most charming sense of humor. We here, like most
everyone else, all call him the Rabbi."
"I di(Wt know that. His being a rabbi, I mean."
"Irm not sure he is formally, although I doubt anyone would question his
credentials. He's Jarmaine. Professor of Philosophy, and I understand he
lectures frequently at the Jewish Theological Seminary. Youll enjoy your
interview.-
Via sure I will. Thank you."
"Front," said the clerk, tapping a bell.
Handelmaes apartment building was between Broadway and Riverside Drive, the
street sloping toward Riverside Park and the Hudson. It was a solid
structure of heavy white stoneonce a monument to New York's exploding upward
mobility-which had been permitted to age gently, and to pass through periods
of brief renaissance, only to recede into that graveyard of tall, awkwardly
ornate edifices too cumbersome for efficient economics. Once there had been
a doorman standing in front of the glass-and-ironwork fagade; now there
324 RoBEiRT Lux)Lum
were double locks on the Inner door and a ftmetioning oammunications system
between visitor and resident.
Havelock pressed the bell, intending merely to make sure Handelman was
home; there was no reply from the speaker. He rang again. Nothing.
He went back outside, crossing the street to a doorway, and considered his
options. He had telephoned the university's Information center and was
Robert Ludlum - The Parcifal Mosaic.txt Page 41
