The press printed it all in the evening editions, the obituaries ranging
from kind to cool, depending on the editorial stripe. But it should be
noted that none was very long; no one really cared. Inconsistency was not
compatible with that most desirable of political sins: typecasting. To
change was to be weak. We want Jesus or the strong-jawed cowboy. Who the
hell can be both?
Undersecretary of State Emory Bradford, committed hawk turned passionate
dove, was dead. By his own hand, of course.
And there was no odd piece of equipment such as a video
502 ROBEnT Lumum
recorder in the stand beneath the television set. It had been delivered to
the wrong office, a G-12 on the third floor confinning his original
request. The set was rolled back against the wall. Apparently unused.
30
"You couldnI have prevented It," said jenna firmly, standing in front of
Havelock at the desk. "You7re not permitted to go to the State Department
and it's a condition you accept. If the mole saw you, he'd either kill you
quietly and remain where he was, or bolt and run to Moscow. You want him,
and your being seen isn't the way to find him."
"Maybe I couldn't have prevented it, but I might have let his death-bis
life-mean more than it did. He wanted to tell me and I told him not to say
any more. He said this phone was as sterile as the house and I woulddt
accept that."
"Thaes not what you said. You told him his phone, his office, might not be
sterile. From everything you've learned over the years, everything you've
seen, you made the logical decision. And I still believe there are
pandnyatchiki in your State Department who would lie for this man, tap an
office for hi="
'You know, a paranoid named McCarthy said things like that and tore this
country apart thirty years ago. Tore it apart with fear and frenzy."
"Perhaps he was one himself. Who could have done it better?"
"Ws possible. The paminyatchik is the total patriot. Hell call for a
loyalty oath every time because he has no compunction abouttignin one."
503
504 ROBERT LUDLUM
"That!s what you have to look for now, Mikhail. A total patriot; a man with
an unblemished record. He will be the mole."
"If I could find out what it was Bradford was waiting for yesterday, I
think I'd have both. He said he wouldn1 know until 'late morning.' That
means he expected something that would tell him where a man wasn~t, proof
someone on the fifth floor wasn~t where he was supposed to be. The security
desk said Bradford received a package at twelve-twenty-five, but no one
knows what it was, and, naturally, it wasn't there later."
"There was no return address or company name?"
"If there was, nobody noticed. It was delivered by messenger."
"Check the firms who provide those services. Certainly someone can recall
the color of the uniform; that would narrow it down."
'She wasn't that kind of messenger. She wore a fur-collared tweed coat, and
the only thing Security remembers is that she was pretty high-toned for
delivering packages."
"High-toned?"
"Attractive, well-spoken, direct. I think that covers it."
"Someone's secretary."
"Yes, but whose? What sort of person would Bradford go to, what kind of
proof?"
"What was the size of the package?"
"The guard who took it up said it was a large, padded envelope with a bulge
on the bottom, and thick throughout. Papers and something else."
'Tapers?" said Jenna. "Newspapers? Could he have gone to a newspaper?"
"He might have. Four-month-old clippings that would describe an event or
events during that time. Or he could have pulled in data from the CIA; he
had friends there. Something from the files that pertained to the evidence
against you, or perhaps Costa Brava . . . something we've overlooked. Or he
could have been checking hospitals, or ski lodges, or hometown, small-town
neig4borhoods or divorcecourt dockets-representation in absentia-or
Caribbean resort reservations-signatures on meal and bar checks, a maitre
& or a beachboy who makes his money by remembering. All of it's possible
because everything Ive said pertains to someone
. THE FA:asiFAL MosAic505
in these records." Michael touched the sheaf of pages on the desk, running
his thumb along the edge. "And a dozen other possibilities I haven't even
thought about." Havelock leaned back in the chair, folding his hands under
his chin. "Our man's good, Jenna. He'll cover himself with a layer of
invisible paint."
"Then go on to something else."
"I am. A doctor in Maryland. Talbot County's most revered physician."
"Mikhail?"
"Yes?"
"Before . . . you were reading the reports of your own therapy at the
clinic. After the Costa Brava."
"How did you know?"
"Every now and then you~d close your eyes. Those pages weren't easy for
you."
"They weren't easy."
"Did they tell you anything?"
"No. Other than describing your execution and my reactions to it, nothing."
"May I see them?"
"I wish to Christ I could think of a reason to stop you. I canst..
"Your not wanting me to is reason enough."
"No, it's not. You were the one being killed; you have to know." He opened
the drawer on his right, reached in and pulled out a thick, black-bordered
manila envelope. He gave it to her, their eyes briefly locking. "I'm not
proud of it," he said. "And I'll have to live with it for the rest of my
life. I know what that means now."
"Well help each other-for the rest of both our fives. I believed them too."
She carried the envelope to the couch, sat down, and opened it, removing
the file folders inside. They were in sequence; she picked up the first and
leaned slowly back, looking at the object in her hands as though it were
some horrible yet holy thing. She opened the cover and began reading.
Havelock could not move, could not concentrate. He sat rigid in the chair,
the papers in front of hun blurred, dark lines without meaning. While Jenna
read he relived that terrible night; images flashed across his inner vision
and ex-
5W RoBE:aT LuDLum
ploded inside his head. just as he had watched her die, she was now
witnessing the naked thoughts of a mind in chemical therapy-his mind, his
deepest emotions-and was watching him die also.
The phrases-the screams--came back to him; she was hearing them too. She
had to be, for it was she who now closed her eyes and held her breath, a
tremor developing in her hands as she went on ... and on. She -finished the
third folder, and he could feel her staring at him. It was a look he could
not return. Ile screams were pounding in his ears, thunderbolts of
intolerable violence, unforgivable errors. Betrayal.
Go quicklyl Die quicklyl Leave me quicklyl You were never mine. You were a
he and I loved a lie but you were never part of me! . . . How can you be
what you are, yet so much that you are notP Why did you do this to us? To
me? You were the only thing I had a
nd now youW my personal hell.... Die
now, go nowl ... Nol For Gods sake, let me the with youl I want to the ...
but I woO die for youl . . . Only for myself, against myself! Never for
you. You gave yourself to me but you gave me a whore and I took a whore
and I believed in the whore. A rotten slut of a whorel Oh, Christ, sWs hitt
She's hit again. Go to her! For Cods sake, go to herl Hold herl ... No,
never to herl It's overl les all over and ies history and I won't listen to
the lies any longer. Oh, Jesus, sWs crawling, crawling in the sand like a
cut-up, bleeding animal. She's alivel Go to herl Hold herl Lessen the final
pain-with a bullet if you have tol Nol ... Shes gone. There's no movement
now, only blood on her hands and streaked through her hair. Shes dead and a
part of me is dead, too. Still, ies got to be history, as the early days are
history ... Oh, my God, they're dragging her away, dragging the lanced, dead
animal away. Who? Who are they? Have I seen ... photographs, files ... it
doestet matter. Do they know what they've done? Did she? Killer, slut,
whorel ... My once, my only love. Ies history now, it hag to be history. A
killer is gone . . . love gone. A goddamned fool survives.
She had finished. She placed the last ffle on the coffee table in front of
her and turned to him; she was crying silently. "So much love and so much
hatred. Hatred and self-hatred. I wasnI forced to go through what you did;
per-
THE PARsiFAL Mosmc507
haps it was easier, if more bewildering, to be the victim. But when the
bewilderment was replaced by anger, I felt the way you did. Hating you so
very much, yet loathing myself for the hatred, never forgetting the love
that I knew-I knew-had been there. It couldn't have been false, not so much,
not all of it. The anger took over at the border and later at the airfield
in Col des Moulinets when I thought you had come to finally kill me. Kill me
with the violence you had shown that woman on the pier at Civitavecchia. I
saw your face through the window of the plane and-if there's a God, may He
forgive me-you were my enemy. My love was my enemy."
"I remember," said Michael. "I saw your eyes and I remember the hatred. I
tried to sbout, tried to tell you, but you couldn't hear me; I couldn't
hear myself through the sound of the engines. But your eyes were weapons
that night, more frightening than any Id ever faced. I wouldn't have the
courage to see them again, but I suppose in a way I always will."
"Only in your memory, Mikhail."
The telephone rang; Havelock let it ring again. He could not take his gaze
off jenna. Then he picked it up.
"Yes?'
"Havelock?"
"Mr. President."
"Did you get the information on Emory?" asked Berquist, the Minnesotan's
voice laced with sadness and exhaustion, yet forcing an illusion of
strength.
"Nowhere near what I need."
'What you need is a liaison. I'll pick someone here at the White House,
someone with authority and a man I can trust. IT have to bring him on
board, but that carA be helped. Bradford's gone and you do need a funnel."
"Not yet, sir. And not anyone at the White House."
There was a pause from Washington. "Because of what Rostov told you in
AthensP"
"Possibly. The percentages are minor, but I'd rather not test them. Not
now."
"You believed himr
"With all due respect, Mr. President, he was the only one who told me the
truth. From the beginning."
"Why would he tell you a truth like thatr
508 ROBERT LUDLTJM
"I'm not sure. On the other hand, why did he send Cons Op that cable? In
both instances the information was sufficiently startling to force us all
to pay attention. That's the first step in sending a signal."
"Addison Brooks said very much the same thing."
"He was talking diplomatically, and he was right. The Voermaya doesn't
speak for Moscow."
"I understand. Bradford-" Berquist paused, as if he suddenly remembered he
was referring to a dead man. '~-Bradford explained it to me last night. So
you really believe there's a Soviet agent operating inside the White
House?"
"As I said, Im not sure. But there may be-or more than likely, may have
been. I doet think Rostov would have brought it up unless he could have
substantiated the reality, present or past. He was probing, looking for
responses. The truth provokes,the most genuine answers in this business; he
learned that when he brought up Costa Brava. In this case, I don't want to
take the risk."
"All right, but then, how can you function? You can't be seen walking
around questioning people."
"No, but I can question them without being seen. I can use the phone if its
set up properly. I know what I want to ask and IT know what to listen for.
From these conversations r1l refine whom I want to see and set up contacts.
I'm experienced at this, Mr. President."
I don't have to take your word for it. How is it set upproperly?"
"Give me a name, and call me an assistant counsel to the President, or
something like that. It's not unusual for the Oval Office to make its own
discreet inquiries into certain matters, is it?"
"Hell, no, I've got a staff for that, and it's not necessarily discreet.
Hundreds of reports are sent to the White House every week. They have to be
checked out, experts questioned, figures substantiated. Without it all,
responsible decisions can1 be made. In Lincoln~s time he had two young men,
and they took care of everything, including the drafting of letters. Now we
have scores of aides and assistants to aides and secretaries to assistants
and they cadt half handle the volume. The answer is yes."
"What happens if someone is called by an aide or an as- TnE PARsrFAL MosAic509
sistant aide and that someone doubts the authority of the person questioning
him?"
"It happens a lot, especially at the Pentagon; theres a simple solution.
He's told to call the White House switchboard and ask to be connected to
the aide's or the assistanes office. It works."
"It will work," said Michael. "Along with the lines already on this phone
can you add another one, listing me in the White House index, the extension
routed here?"
"Havelock, one of the more exotic pleasures in being President, or close to
a President, is the trunkful of electronic gimmickry available on short
notice. Youll be indexed and patched into the switchboard within the hour.
What name do you want to use?"
"Youll have to choose one, sir. I might duplicate someone already there."
"IT call you back."
"Mr. President, before you bang up-2'
"What is it?"
"I'll. need another one of those things that may not be in your lexicon. A
context backup."
"It sure as bell isn1 What is it?"
"In the event someone calls the White House index and wants to know exactly
what I do, there should be someone else there who can tell him."
Again there was the pause from Washington. '-fou were right, down on
Poole's Island," said Berquist pe
nsively. "The words say exactly what they
mean, don't they? You need someone to back you up in the context of what
you~re presuming to do, or be."
"That's right, sir."
"Call you back."
"May I suggest something?" said Michael quickly.
"What?"
"Within the next few days-if we have a few days-someone is going to come up
to that someone else in the White House and ask where my office is. When be
or she does, bold him-or ber-because whoever it is will bring us a step
closer."
"If that happens," said Berquist angrily, "whoever it is may be strangled
by a Minnesota farm boy before you get a chance to talk to him. Or her."
510 ROBERT LUDLTJM
'I'm sure you don't mean that, Mr. President."
"I'm not going to throw a nuclear warhead on Leningrad, either. Call you
back."
Havelock replaced the phone and looked over at Jenna. "We can begin
narrowing down the names. We'll start calling in an hour."
"Your name is Cross. Robert Cross. Your title is Special Assistant to the
President, and all inquiries as to your status and functions are to be
directed to Mrs. Howell-she's counsel to White House internal affairs. She's
been told what to do."
"What about my office?'
"You've got one."
"What?"
"You~ve even got an assistant. In the security area of E.O.B. You need a
key to get in the main corridor over there, and your man is instructed to
take into custody anyone who comes around looking for Mr. Cross. He's a
member of the Secret Service detail and if anyone does show up asking for
you, he'll alert you and bring that person down to Fairfax under guard. I
assumed thaeswhat you wanted."
"It is. What about the other offices in that area? Will the people in them
be curious?"
"Unlikely. By and large those assignments are temporaM everyone working on
his own quiet project. Curiosit3es discouraged. And if it surfaces, you've
got your man in place."
"It sounds tight."
"I think so. Where are you going to start? Emory showed me the list of the
items you wanted and assured me you'd have it all in the morning. Did you
get everything?"
"Everything. Bradfor&s secretary is first, then the doctor in Maryland.
MacKenzie's death."
Robert Ludlum - The Parcifal Mosaic.txt Page 64
