given the location and number of Handelman's offibe. A second call-placed
anonymously as an administration clerk requesting a Thursday stat
sheet-revealed the fact that Handelman had doctoral appointments scheduled
through 4:00 P.m. It was now nearly five o'clock, and Michaers frustration
was growing. Where was Handelman? There was, of course, no guarantee that
he would come directly home from his office, but a broker of sanctuary who
had just placed-or was placing-a woman fugitive from Paris had certain
obligations. Havelock bad considered going to Handelman's office or
intercepting him on -the street; he considered both options again. Perhaps
an appofntment had run late, or he had accepted an invitation for dinner,
someone could still be there who might know, who might help him.
-Coping with the tension of waiting-a practice he was normally superb
at-was causing him pain, actual physical pain in his stomach. He breathed
deeply, he could not confront the halfway man in an office or on the street
or in any public place and he knew it. The meeting had to take place where
there were names and numbers, maps and codes; these were the tools of a
halfway man. They would only be kept where he could store them safely,
reach them quickly. Under a floorboard, or deep in a wall, or
microscopically reduced and In the toe of a shoe or implanted in shirt
buttons.
He had not seen a photograph of Handelman, but he knew what he looked like.
The florid-faced bartender at the King's Arms Hotel-himself apparently a
fixture, with the flair and verbosity of a fifth-rate poet from Dublin-had
described "the Rabbi." Jacob Handelman was a medium-tall man with long
white hair and a short gray beard, given slightly to overweight and more
than slightly to a paunch. His walk was "slow and stately," the bartender
said, "as if he was the Judaic blood-royal, sir, forever partin' the
waters, or moundd
Tim PAmwAL MosAxc 325
the ark to discourse with the animals. Ah, but he has a gleam in his eye and
a lovely heart, sir.-
Havelock had listened to the man and ordered a double Scotch.
Three minutes past five. Breathe deep. Really breathe and think of lenna,
think what yotere going to say to her. It coult! be an hour or two, or
longer, perhaps halt the night. Half the night for the halfway vian. DoWt
dwell on it.
Dusk lingered, the orange sun inflaming the New Jersey skyline beyond the
Hudson River The West Side Highway was jammed, and Riverside Drive,
parallel to it, was barely less so. The temperature was droppmg and gray
clouds joined the darkening sky-, snow was in the air.
And across the street a medium-tall man, wide at the girth, in a fall black
overcoat, walked slowly down the pavement. His bearing was indeed stately,
matching the distmguished image created by his pure-white hair, which fell
several inches below the brim of his black hat In the light of a streedamp,
Michael could see the gray beard, it was the halfway man.
Jacob Handelman approached the outer glass doors of his apartment building
and was now in the stronger light of the large entrance lamps. Havelock
stared, at once mesmerized and disturbed, did he know the halfway man? Had
"the RabbfP been part of an operation eight . . . ten years ago? Perhaps in
the Middle East, Tel Aviv, Lebanon? Michael had the distinct feeling that
he did know him. Was it the walk? The deliberate pace that seemed almost
anachronistic, as if the figure should be strolling in medieval robes? Or
was it the thin steel-rimmed glasses, set so firmly in the center of the
large face?
The moment passed; it was, of course, possible that a halfway man might
have crossed his path in any number of situations. They could have been in
the same sector at one time or another, a respected professor supposedly on
holiday but, in reality, meeting with someone like R6gine Broussac. En-
tirely possible.
Handelman went inside the enclosed entranceway, climbed the inner steps and
stopped at the row of mailboxes. lt was all Michael could do to restrain
himself; the desire to race
326 RosERT LunLum
across the street and confront the halfway man was nearly overpowering.
He may choose to teU you nothing. Broussac.
An old man who did not care to negotiate could scream on a staircase and
yell for help. And the one who needed help did not know what was behind a
door across the street, what devices a group of intelligent city dwellers
had mounted to defend themselves from hallway thugs. Security alarms had
flooded the market, he had to wait until Jacob Handelman was safely in his
flat. And then a knock on the door and the words "Quai d`Orsay~' would be
enough; there was respect for a man who could elude alarms, an inherent
threat in someone outside a door who Imew that the one inside was a halfway
man. Handelman would see him; he could not afford to refuse.
Ile old man disappeared through the inner door, the heavy panel of ironwork
and glass swinging slowly shut behind him. Havelock waited three minutes;
the light went on in several front windows on the fourth floor. It was
logical that Handelman~s apartment number was 4A. A halfway man had certain
things in common with deep-cover field personnel and the Soviet VKR, he had
to be able to watch the streets.
He was not watching now; there was no figure behind the window shades.
Michael stepped out of the doorway and crossed the stitet. Inside the
ornate entranceway he struck a match and held it waist-high as he looked
down the row of names above the buttons.
R. Charles, Superintendent ID.
He pressed the button and put his lips close to the webbed speaker.
"Yes , what is it?" asked the male voice in clear, well-spoken English.
"Mr. Charles?" said Havelock not knowing why the man7s voice struck him as
odd.
"Yes, ies Charles. Whes this?"
"United States government, Department of State-2'
"WhatP"
. Nothing to be aLumed about, Mr. Charles. If you'll come
to the door, you can check my identification through the
glass, and either admit me or I can give you a numtiD
call..
THE PAPmFAL MosAic327
R. Charles paused, then answered slowly, "Fair enough."
Thirty seconds later a huge, muscular young man appeared in the hallway
beyond the door. He was wearing track shorts and a sweatshirt marked with
a large number 20. It was either a proclamation of age or the gridiron
identity of one of Columbia's larger linebackers. This, then, was the pro-
tection the apartment dwellers on Morningside Heights had chosen. Again,
logical: take care of your own to take care of you. Free lodgings for an
imposing presence. Michael held up his old ID card In its black plastic
case; the dates, of course, were blurred.
R. Charles squinted through the glass, shrugged, and opened the door. "What
the hell is this?" he asked, more curiosity than hostility in his voice. A
man his size did not have to be aggressive; his thick legs and neck and
muscular arms were sufficiently intimidating. Also his youth.
'Meres a man here Ird like to see on official State Department business,
but he's not in. I rang, of course; he!s a friend."
"Who is it?"
"Dr. Jacob Handelman. He's a consultant for us but he doesn't advertise
It."
"Nice old guy, Handelman."
"The best, Mr. Charles. However, I think he'd be alarmed if he thought I
might be recognized." Havelock grinnedL "Also, It's damned cold out there."
"I can't let you in his apartinent. I uvret let you in."
"And I woul(Wt allow you to. III just wait here, if its all right."
R. Charles hesitated, his eyes dropping to the open ID case still in
Michael's hand. "Yeah, well, okay. I'd ask you into my place but my
roommate and I are busting our humps for a midterm tomorrow."
"Please, I wouldn't think of it . .
Havelock was interrupted by the appearance of an even larger young man in
a doorway at the end of the hall. He was in a fall sweatsuit, a book
gripped in one hand, a pair of glasses in the other. "Hey, man, what is
it?"
"Nothing. Someone looking for the RabbL"
"Another one? Come on, were wasting time. Yoifre the bram, I just want to
get through tomorrow."
328 RoBERT LuDLum
"Your roommate on the team?" asked Michael, hying to appear contemporary.
"No. He wrestles. That is, he does when they dorA throw him out for dirty
holds. Okay, Mastiff, commg~- The roommate went inside.
"Thanks again."
"Sure. You even sound official. The Rabbi aught to show up any minute."
"Pretty punctual, huh?"
'Like a Swiss clock." Number 20 turned, then looked back at Havelock. "You
know, I figured something like this. Like you, I mean."
"How so?"
"I donI know ... the people who come to see him, I guess. Late at night
sometimes; not exactly, campus types."
There was nothing to lose in asking, thought Michael. The young man himself
had provided the opening. -We're most concerned about the woman, I doi*
mind telling you that. For the Rabbi's sake we hope she got here. Did you
by any chance see her? A blond woman, about five feet five, probably in a
raincoat, maybe a hat. Yesterday? Today?"
"Last night," said the young man. "I didnI, but Mastiff did. Foxy lady, he
told me. But nervous; she rang the wrong bell and got old Weinberg-he!s in
Four-B and even more nervous."
"We're relieved she's here. What time last night?"
"About now, I guess. I was on the phone when Weinberg buzzed us on the
intercom."
'lliank you." Twenty-four hours. A halfway tnan upstairs. She was within
reach-he could feel it, sense itt "Incidentally, by sheer coincidence,
yadve been given privileged information. Please respect it."
"Man, you are official. I never saw you, Mr. Havalatch. But if they
institute that draft, I may look you up."
"Do that. Thanks again."
"Take care." The huge student walked down the hallway to the open door.
The instant it was closed, Havelock moved quickly to the wide stone
staircase in the center of the foyer, the steps worn smooth, indented from
decades of use. He could not use the elevator beyond; its sound might well
alarm a trusting mus-
THE PAIRSIFAL MOSAIC329
cular student who could suddenly reject the concept of pnvileged information
in favor of less esoteric responsibilities.
In Paris when Michael had purchased the expensive black shoes to match his
suit he had had the presence of mind to have them resoled with hard rubber.
They served him well on the staircase; he went up swiftly, silently, taking
the steps two and three at a time, rounding the landings without a sound.
InJess than half a minute he reached the fourth floor; apartment 4A was at
the end of the tiled, dimly lit hallway. He stood for several moments
catching his breath, then approached the door and pressed the small button
embedded in the molding. From beyond he heard the bell chime softly and
seconds later the sound of footsteps.
"Yes?" said the curiously high-pitched voice, in a guttural European
accent.
"Dr. Jacob Handelman?"
"Who is this, please?" The speech was Jewish-rooted German.
"I have news from the Quai &Orsay. May we talkr
"Vds?" The silence was brief, the words that followed rushed. "You are
mistaken. I have no idea what you are talking about. I know no one in . .
. what you say, the Qual d~Orsay?"
in that case, ill have to get in touch with Paris, and tell my contact
she's made a dreadful error. Naturally, Jacob Handelman will be removed
from the catacombs computer te-.1731ilUd..
"Just one minute, please. I must jog this old mads memory.
Havelock could hear the moving footsteps again, faster now, receding, then
returning long before the stated minute was up. The metallic sounds of
several locks were heard behind the thick wood; the door opened and the
halfway man stared at him, then gestured with his head for Michael to come
inside.
What was it? Why was he so certain he knew this man, this old man with the
gray beard and the long white hair? The large face was soft, but the eyes,
in the creased flesh behind the heavy-lensed glasses with-the thin steel
rims, wereHe was not sure, he could not tell.
"You are in my house, Sir," said Handelman, closing the door and
manipulating the locks. "rve traveled widely, of
330 RoEERT LuDLum
course, not always by my own wishes, like so many thousands in my situation.
Perhaps we have a mutual friend I cannot at the moment recall. At the Quai
d'Orsay. Naturally, I know a number of professors at the Sorbonne."
Was it the high-pitched, singsong voice? Or the questionIng tilt of the
head? Or the way the old man stood, feet planted firmly, the posture soft,
yet somehow rigid? No, it was not any single thing; it was all of them ...
somehow.
"'A mutual friend' isn't quite accurate. You know a name. Broussac.
Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Section Four. She was to have reached you
today; sWs a person of her word. I think she did."
"Ah, but my office is filled with scores of messages only my secretary is
aware of, Mr.... Mr... ?"
"Havelock."
'Yes, Mr. Havellacht. Come in, come in. I knew a Habernicht in Berlin in
the old days. Friedrich Haberniclit Quite similar, nor
'Close, I guess." Was it the walkP The same deliberate stride that he had
seen outside. The stately . . . arrogant steps that should be cloaked in
medieval robes, or a high prieses cassock. He had to ask. 'We!ve met
before, haven't weF'
'WeP" The halfway man's eyebrows arched; he adjusted his steel-rimmed
glasses and peered at Michael. "I cannot imagine where. Unless you were a
student in a large class of mine, but that would have to be a number of
years ago, I would think. In such a case, you would remember me, but I
would not necessarily remember you. Age and the sheer mass of numbers, you
understand."
"Never mind." A number of years ago. Hotv many years? "Are you telling me
you haveet heard from Broussac?"
"rm telling You nothing... Sit down, do s
it down.... I am merely saying
that I do not know. You say this person Broussac sent me a message today,
and I am saying I receive dozens of messages every day that I frequently do
not get to for many days. Again, age and the sheer mass of numbers."
"I heard you before," interrupted Havelock; he remained standing, his eyes
scanning the room. There were bookshelves everywhere, old
furniture-overstuffed chairs, fringed lamps, hassocks-nothing Spartan. Once
more the smell of
THE PARsiFAL MosAic331
Academe. "Jenna Karasl" said Michael suddenly, rapidly, raising his voice.
'Another messager asked Handelman ingenuously, an old man bemused by a
younger antagonist. "So many messagesI must have a talk with my secretary.
She overprotecti me."
"Jenna Karas came to see you last nightj know thad"
*three ... no, four people came toAee me last night, each a student of
mine. I even have their names over here, and the outlines of two graduate
papers.' Handelman walked to a cluttered desk against the wall.
"Cut it outl" shouted Havelock. "You packaged her and rve got to find herl
That was Broussac!s message."
"So many messages " intoned the halfway man, as if chanting a Talmudic
passa~e. 'Ahh, here are the names, the graduate outlines," continued
Handelman, bending over the disorganized pile of papers. "So many visitors
so many messages. Who can keep track?"
"Listen to mel Broussac wouldn~t have given me your
name or told me where to find you if I weren't telling you
the truth. I have to reach herl A terrible thing was done to
her-to us --- and she doesn7t: underst:andl"
"'Me Filioque Denials in the Councils of Arius,'" chanted Handelman,
standing erect and holding a sheaf of papers under the light of a floor
lamp. "Those would be the Nicene rejections: of the Eastern Church around
the fifth century. Very little understood-speaking of understanding."
He may choose to tell you nothing. "Goddamn you, where did you send her?
Stop playing with mel Because-if I have to-411-"
"Yes?" Jacob Handelman turned his head in the spill of the floor lamp and
peered once again through the steelrimmed glasses. He took several steps to
his left and replaced the papers on the desk.
it um there, at that moment. It was all there. The eyes behind the thin
Robert Ludlum - The Parcifal Mosaic.txt Page 42
