shoulders weakened. The wound from Col des
THE PmLsxiFAL Mosmc413
Moulinets was beginning to hurt; he had to be careful and use the weight of
his body....
Sound. Not his, not the abrasive creaking of oarlocks or the lapping of
waves against the bow. A muffled sound ... an engine.
A light, a searchlight, sweeping the water about half a mile to his right.
It was a patrol boat rounding the far point of the island, veering
starboard, directly at him. Did the islan&s security system include sonar?
Sonic beams shooting over the water, rising and falling with the tides,
capable of picking up small craft approaching the shore? Or was the boat on
a routine patrol? It was not the moment to speculate. Keeping his body low,
Havelock swiftly lifted the oars out of their locks, shoving both under the
slatted seats so they rested on the floor of the hull. He reached foward
for the mooring line, throwing it over the bow, and then slipped over the
side into the ocean, breathing deeply and tensing his muscles to ward off
the cold. He slid back and held on to the propeller shaft, splashing water
over the outboard motor, cooling the top surface. He had traveled at very
low throttle; in minutes only a sensitive hand would be able to determine
whether the engine had been running-if anyone thought to check.
The searchlight suddenly blinded him; the skiff had been spotted. The
faraway engine roared through the wind, joined by the wobbling wail of a
siren. The patrol boat accelerated, bearing down on him. He dived under the
water, swimming out, away from the island, the current propelling him. The
skiff was still nearly a quarter-mile from the shoreline, too far for a
swimmer to attempt comfortably in these waters; it was a fact that might
weigh in his favor when the boat was found.
By the time the large patrol boat had side-slipped into the skiff and cut
its motors, Michael was twenty yards behind its stem, breaking the surface,
pulling the wet wool knit hat down over his head. The searchlight was
crisscrossing the water everywhere; he went under twice, his eyes open,
x-eemerging when the beam had passed. It continued scanning the area, but
no longer behind, only in the front and the sides. Two men with grappling
hooks had the skiff in tow; the one at the bow shouted.
414 ROBERT LuDLum
"Leo!s Marina, Lieutenantl Out of Savannahl Marker number CA
zero-eight-twol"
"Tell base to raise Leds Marina in Savannah and cut us int" yelled the
officer to an unseen radio operator in the open cabin. "The number's CA
zero-eight-twol Get a readingl"
"Yes, sirl" came the reply.
"And inform base of our location. Have a security check run on sector
four."
rhis thing couldn~t have gotten in there, Lieutenant," said the man with
the stem hook. "led be tripped by the flat nets. Everywhere there ain~t no
rocks we got flat nets."
'Men what the hell's it doing here? Are there any clothes, any equipment?
Anything?"
"Nothin% sirl" yelled the first man, climbing down into the skiff. "Stinks
of flsh, that's all."
Havelock watched while treading and bobbing in the water. He was struck by
an odd thing: the men on the patrol boat were in khald fatigues, the
officer in a field jacket. They were army, not navy. Yet the boat had a
naval registration.
"Lieutenantl" The voice came from within the cabin as a face with a headset
framing it appeared in the open archway. "The watchman at Leo's said a
couple of drunks had that skiff out and brought it in late. He figured they
didn7t tie it up proper and it went out with the tide. He!d appreciate it
if we towed it in; Wd be his ass. The boat!s shit, but the outboard's worth
money."
"I don7t like it," said the officer.
"Hey, come on, sir. Who!s gonna swim a half-mile in these waters? The
fishermen~ve seen sharks around here."
"Suppose ies been in?"
'With the flat nets?" asked the man with the stem hook 'No place else to
park, Lieutenant."
"Fuck itl Throw up the line and lei!s circle around nearer the nets and
rocks. This Leo owes us."
And Havelock knew he owed a night watchman far more than the hundred
dollars he had given him. The patrol boat's engines roared as the first man
climbed aboard and another tied the skifFs mooring line to a stem cleat. In
seconds the surface prowler was heading toward the shoreline, crisscrossing
the waters as its powerful searchlight roamed the darkness.
Flat nets. Fields of lightweight fabric, stretched and held
THE PAMIFAL MOSMC 415
afloat just below the surface by buoyant cork or Styrofoam, woven together
with strands of piano wire. Fish could not break the wires, but propellers
could, and if they did, the alarms went ofF. Rocks. Stretches of the
island~s coastline that were prohibitive to vessels of any size. He had to
keep the patrol boat in sight; it was approaching the rocks.
sharks. He did not care to think about them; there simply was no point.
What he had to concentrate on was reaching land. The current was almost
intolerable, but by breaststroking between the waves and the undertow
beneath he made slow progress, and when be could see the beams of a dozen
flashlights shining through the pines, he knew he was getting closer. Time
was irrelevant, its passage reflected only in the straining pain in his
arms and legs, but his concentration was complete. He had to reach a net or
a rock, or some other obstruction beneath him that told him he could stand.
A net came first. He worked himself to the right, hand over hand, slipping
on the thick nylon cord, until he felt a huge floating Styrofoarn barrel
shaped like an ocean buoy. He rounded it and pulled himself in on the
border of cord until his knees struck two sharp objects that told him he
had reached the rocks. He held on to the net, his body battered by the
incoming surf, and waited, gasping for air. The flashlight beams were
receding into the pines; the security check in sector four had proven
fruitless. When the last beam disappeared between the trunks, he inched his
way toward the shore, holding on to the wired'net with all his strength as
the waves crashed over him. He had to stay away from the rocksl They loomed
above him-white, jagged points of stone made razor-sharp by millennia of
rushing waters. One enormous wave and be would be impaled.
He lurched to his left, spreading himself over the net, when suddenly it
was gone. it was gonel He could feel the sand under him. He had crossed the
man-made barrier reef and was on fand.
He crawled out of the water, barely able to lift his arms; his legs were
drained, weightless appendages that kept collapsing into the wet softness
beneath him. The moon made one of its sporadic appearances, illuminating a
dune of wild grass twenty yards ahead; he crept forward, each foot bringing
him nearer a resting place. He reached the dune and
416 RoBERT LuDLum
climbed up onto its dry sand; he rolled over on his back and stared at the
dark sky.
&nb
sp; He remained motionless for the better part of a half hour, until he could
feel the blood filling his arms again, the weight returning to his legs.
Ten years ago, even five, be reflected, the gauntlet he had struggled
through would have taken him fifteen minutes, at most, from which to
recover. Now, he would appreciate several hours', if not a nighes, sleep
and a hot bath.
He lifted his hand and looked at the dial of his watch. It was
ten-forty-three. In seventeen minutes jenna would place her first call to
Cons Op emergency. reception. He had wanted an hour on the island-to
explore, to make decisions-before that first call, but it was not to be. He
was forty-three minutes behind schedule. On the other hand, there would
have been no schedule at all to adhere to if he had failed to cross the
island's barrier reef.
He got to his feet, tested his legs, shook his arms and twisted his torso
back and forth, barely noticing the discomfort of his soaked clothing and
the abrasive scraping of sand over his entire body. It was enough that he
could function, that signals from brain to muscle still filtered through
the proper motor controls. He could move-swiftly if he had toand his mind
was clear, he needed nothing else.
He checked his gear. The waterproof flashlight was hooked into a strap
around his waist next to the oilcloth packet on his left; the hunting knife
in its scabbard was on the right. He removed the packet, unzipped the
waterproof flap and felt the contents. The thirteen folded pages were dry.
So was the small Spanish automatic. He tDok'out the weapon, shoved it under
his belt, and replaced the packet on the strap. He then checked his trouser
pockets; the rawhide shoelaces were soaked but intact-each lace separate,
rolled into a ball-five in his right-hand pocket, five in the left. If more
than ten were needed, then none would. be needed. They would all be
worthless. He was ready.
Footsteps ... Were there footsteps? If so, the sound was incongruous with
the sand and the soft earth that had to be beneath the ocean pines. it was
a slow tattoo of sharp cracks-leather heels beating a hard surface.
Havelock crouched and raced toward the cover of the tall trees and peered
diagonally to his right in the direction of the sound.
Tim PARsrPAL Mosmc417
A second tattoo, now on his left, farther away, but coming closer. It was
similar to the first-slow, deliberate. He crawled deeper into the pines
until he came within several feet of the edge, where he dived prone on the
ground; he immediately raised his head to see what the sudden new light
would reveal. What be saw explained the sound of the footsteps, but nothing
else. Directly ahead was a wide, smoothly surfaced concrete road, and just
beyond it was a stockade fence at least twelve feet high extending as far
as the eye could see in both directions. The light came from behind it; a
roof of light hung everywhere. It was the glow he had seen from the water,
now much brighter, but still oddly soft, lacking intensity.
The first soldier appeared on the right, walking slowly. Like the crew on
the patrol boat, he wore army fatigues, but strapped to his waist was a
government-issue Colt .45 automatic. He was a young foot soldier on guard
duty, his bored face reflecting the waste of time and motion. His
counterpart emerged from the shadows on the left, perhaps fifty yards away;
his walk if anything, was slower than that of his comrade. They approached
each other like two robots on a treadmill, meeting no more than thirty feet
from Havelock.
"Did anyone fill you in?" asked the soldier on the right.
"Yeah, some rowboat with a motor drifted out from Savannah with the tide,
that!s all. No one in it:
Anybody check the enginer
"What do you meanr
"The oil. The oil stays warm if Ws been running. Like any motor..
"Hey, come on. Who the hell could get in here, anywayr
"I dididt say they could. I just said it was one way to tell."
"Forget it. They're still doing a three-sixty search-in case sornebody's
got wings, I guess. The whips around here are all swacked in the head."
'Wouldift you ber
The guard on the left looked at his watch. "Yo&ve got a point. See you
inside."
"If Jackson shows up, you will. Last night he was a half hour late. Can you
believe it? He said he bad to see the end of a lousy TV movie."
"He pulls that a lot. Willis told hun the other night that
418 Roi3ERT LUDLUM
someday someone's going to just walk off and say he took over. Let him
hang."
"Re!d talk bis way out of it."
Each man turned and began trudging back on his familiar, useless course.
Michael pieced together the essentials of their conversation. A search
party was combing the island and the guards' watch was about over-a watch
that was apparently loose, if a midnight relief could be a half hour late.
It was an inconsistency; the island was a security fortress, yet guard duty
was treated as though it were a futile if necessary performance. Why?
The answer, he surmised, might be found in an old observation. Barracks
personnel and low-level superiors were the Rot to perceive unnecessary
duty. Which could only mean that the shoreline alarms were matched by
interior sensors. Michael studied the high stockade fence. It was new, the
wood a pale tan, and it took little imagination to picture the trips wired
behind it-dual beams set off by mass, weight and body heat, impossible to
tunnel under or vault over or cut through. And then he saw what he had not
concentrated on: the fence curved-as the concrete road curved-on both
sides. Cates had to be beyond the sight lines, entrances manned by
personnel at the only points of penetration. Not casual at all.
A three-skay search.
Soldiers 'With flashlights treading through the pines and over the beaches,
looking for the shadow of a possibility. They had begun directly behind
him, on a stretch of the coastline called sector four, moving
quickly-perhaps a dozen men, maybe a thirteen-man squad. Wherever they had
come fiom, they would undoubtedly return to the same place once they had
completed the circle ... and the night was dark, the moonlight increasingly
infrequent. Using the search party as part of his strategy was an outside
possibility-the only .one he could think of-but for the tactic to work, he
had to move. Now.
The soldier on the right not only was closest but was the most logical to
deal with first. He was nearly out of sigh4 rounding the bend in the road,
disappearing beyond the angle of the fence. Havelock got up and ran across
the road, then started racing down the sandy shoulder, furious at the sound
of his waterlogged boots. He reached the bend; there were gate lights up
ahead, perhaps six hundred feet away.
TkE PARaFAL MosAic419
He ran faster, closing the gap between himself and the slowmoving, guard,
hoping the wind rustling through the trees muffied the spongelike crunching
beneath him.
He was within twelve feet when the man stopped, alarmed, his
head whipping
to the side. Havelock sprang, covering the final six feet in midair; his
right hand clamped on the soldier's mouth and his left grabbed the base of
the man~s skull, controlling both their falls to the ground. He held the
soldier firmly, his knee under the young man's back, arching the body over
it.
"Don7t try to shoud" he whispered. "This is only a security exercise-like
war games, you understand? Half the garrison here knows about it, half
doesnI Now, Im going to take you across the road and tie you up and gag
you, but nothing7ll be too tight. You're simply out of maneuvers. Okay?'
The young guard was too much in shock to respond other than to blink
repeatedly with his large, frightened eyes. Michael could not trust
him-more accurately, he could not trust him not to panic. He reached for
the fallen barracks cap and rose with the soldier, pulling the young man
up, his hand still clamped on the mouth; they both dashed across the road,
turning right, and headed for the pines. Once in the darkness under the
branches, Havelock stopped and tripped the soldier to the ground; they were
far enough into sector four.
"Now, Im going to take my hand away," said Michael, kneeling, "but if you
make a sound, I'll have to chop you out, you got that? If I didn7t~ I'd
lose points. OkayF'
The young man nodded and Havelock slowly removed his hand, prepared to
clamp it back at the first loud utterance. The guard rubbed his cheeks and
said quietly, "You scared the shit out of me. What the hells going on?"
"Just what I told you," said Michael, unstrapping the soldieis weapons belt
and yanking off his field jacket. "It's a security exercise," he added,
reaching into his own pocket for a rawhide lace and pulling the guard's
arms behind him. "We're going to get inside." He tied the guards wrists and
forearms together, weaving the rawhide up to the elbows.
"Into the compound?'
"That's right."
"No way, man. You losel"
'Me alarm systemr
420 Roim= LunLum
"It's seven ways to Memphis and back. A pelican got burned on the fence the
other night; it sizzled for a goddamn half an hour. Son of a bitch if we
diddt have chicken the next day."
Robert Ludlum - The Parcifal Mosaic.txt Page 53
