Robert Ludlum - The Parcifal Mosaic.txt

by The Parcifal Mosaic [lit]

  tions she may ask. Your escort will be back in twenty minutes or so. When

  you're fmished, and only if she agrees, you may go. But once you reach your

  house you7re not to leave it for any reason whatsoever. You'll be watched."

  TJaE PAwxFAL MosAic583

  "Yes, Mr. Cross."

  Havelock grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair and started toward

  the door. He stopped and turned to Decker, his hand on the knob.

  "Incidentally, her name is Mrs. Cross."

  All low-flying traffic was diverted as the two helicopters roared into the

  small private field in Denton, Maryland, the aircraft from the Bethesda

  Naval Hospital arriving eleven minutes before the chopper from Quantico.

  Havelock raced across the tarmac to the staff car sent over from Annapolis,

  the driver an ensign reputed to know the roads on the Eastern Shore of

  Chesapeake Bay. The ensign knew nothing else; no one did; not even the

  doctor whose orders were to take care of Charles Loring first, and not to

  administer anything to Loring~s prisoner until Sterile Five was on the

  scene. Two state police patrol cars had been sent to the Pheasant Run Motel;

  they would be given their instructions by the Secret Service.

  If the name Pheasant Run gave rise to images of squire. dom and hunt

  country, it was misapplied to the sleazy moters rim-down cabins that stood

  in a row off the highway. Apparently, the moters primary function was to

  serve as a place for assignations lasting an hour or so, cars were parked

  in small dirt lots at the rear, out of sight of the main road. The

  management catered to its clientele's idiosyncrasies, if not to their

  comforts, and Loring had used his head. A man in pain, concealing wounds,

  without luggage but with a prisoner he wanted to rush surreptitiously into

  hiding, could hardly hope to register at a brightly lit Howard johnson's

  Motor Lodge.

  Havelock thanked the ensign and told him to return to Annapolis, reminding

  him that the present emergency called for the utmost secrecy. Washington

  had his name, and his cooperation would not be overlooked. The young man,

  obviously impressed by the sight of searchlights and military helicopters

  at night, as well as by his own participation, replied in a monotone, "You

  may be assured of my silence, sir."

  "Just say you went out for a beer, thaes good enough. Better, maybe."

  A government man, holding up an encased silver badge in his palm,

  intercepted Michael as he ran along the row of cabins looking for number

  twelve.

  584 RoBETtT LunLum

  "Sterile Five," said Havelock, noticing for the Rrst time the two state

  police cars parked in the shadows twenty feet apart to his left. Number

  twelve was nearby.

  "This way," said the man, pocketing his badge, and led Michael between two

  cabins toward the rear of the moters grounds. Beyond was a shorter row of

  cabins, which were not visible from the front. Loring had spent precious

  moments of pain and anxiety studying the moters layout-again an indication

  that be was in control.

  In the distance, at the rear of the cabin on the left, the bood of a

  stationary automobile could be seen, but it was not an ordinary car. A

  streak of white ending in an arrowhead was stenciled over the black chassis

  at midpoint. It was the patrol car Loring bad stolen, the only indication

  that perhaps he bad lost a part of the control that bad served them all so

  well. Someone in Washington would have to reach a panIcked. Maryland police

  headquarters and call off the hunt.

  "This is it," said the federal agent, pointing to the door of a cabin above

  a stoop of three steps. "I'll be out here," added the man. "Watch those

  steps; theyre loose."

  "Thanks," said Havelock, and quickly but cautiously went up to the door. He

  tried the knob; it was locked. In answer to his knock, someone inside

  asked, "Who is it?"

  "Sterile Five," replied Michael.

  The door was opened by a stocky, red-haired man in his middle thirties, his

  Celtic face freckled, his eyes wary, his sleeves rolled up. "Havelock?"

  "That's right."

  "Name's Taylor. Come on in, we've got to talk fast."

  Michael walked inside the room with the soiled wallpaper; the doctor closed

  the door. On the bed was a naked man, spread-eagled, bloody hands and feet

  tied to the frame, belts around the wrists, torn sheets lashed to his

  ankles. His mouth was pulled taut by a striped blue tie to inhibit any loud

  sound, and his eyes were wide with anger and fear.

  "Wher6's ... ?"

  Taylor gestured toward the far comer of the room. 7$ere on the floor, his

  bead on a pillow and a blanket over him, was Charles Loring, his eyes only

  partially open; he was dazed or in shock. Havelock started across the

  filthy gray carpet but was stopped by the doctor's grip on his arm.

  'Jrhat's what we have to talk about. I don~t know whaes

  Mm PAnsi7AL MosAic585

  going on here, but I do know I can't be responsible for that man's life

  unless we get him to a hospital an hour ago. Do I make myself clearP"

  "As soon as we can, not right now," said Michael, shaking his head. "rve

  got to question him. Hes the only person who can give me the information I

  need. Everyone else is dead."

  "Maybe you di(Wt hear me. I said an hour ago."

  "I heard you, but I know what I have to do. I'm sorry."

  "I don't like you," said Taylor, staring at Havelock, removIng his hand as

  if he had touched something loathsome.

  "I wish that could concern me, Doctor, because I like him III be as brief

  and as quiet as I can. He'd want it this way, take my word for it."

  "I have to. I couldn't convince him be should get out of here ten minutes

  ago."

  Michael walked over to Loring and knelt down, putting his face close to the

  wounded man's. "Charley, ifs Havelock. Can you hear me?"

  Loring opened his eyes wider, his lips trembling, struggling to form the

  words. Finally the whisper came. "Yes. Hear ... you ... fine."

  "IT tell you what I've learned, which is damned little. Nod your bead if

  I'm on the track, shake it if I'm not. Don't waste words or breath. Okay?"

  The Cons Op agent nodded and Michael continued, "I spoke with police who

  are trying to put it together. As they tell it, an ambulance brought in a

  traffic accident with his wife, and Randolph, a staff doctor and a nurse

  were cleaning him up, checking the extent of injuries." Loring shook his

  head, but Havelock went on, "Let me finish, then we'll go back. They wereet

  in there five minutes when two state troopers came running in and spoke

  with our cardiologists. No one knows what was said, but they were admitted

  into the examining room." Again the Cons Op agent shook his bead. "A couple

  of minutes later a third man-I assurne that was you-crashed through

  emergency doors, and that's when everything went down." Loring nodded.

  Havelock took a breath and continued softly, rapidly. "The staff heard

  gunshots, perhaps five or six, no one's sure. Most of them ran out of the

  building. The rest hid in the corridors and patients' rooms behind locked

  doors, everyone trying to reach a
phone. When the gunfire stopped, someone

  outside

  586 ROBERT LUDLUM I

  saw you and one of the state police come running down the ramp-you were bent

  over with a gun in your hand, the officer was bleeding, limping and holding

  his arm. You forced him into the patrol car and got out of there. The police

  are trying to find out who the other trooper was, but identifications were

  taken off some of the bodies, not all." Loring shook his bead violently.

  Michael touched his shoulder and said, "Take it easy; we'll go back. I donI

  have to tell you the body count was full. Randolph, the staff doctor, the

  nurse, the accident victim and his wife and our Apache unit. Two automatic

  weapons equipped with silencers were found; theyre still counting the

  shells. Yours was the gunfire that was heard; they're tracing the weapons,

  matching prints. Beyond what rve told you, no one knows what happened. Now,

  let's go back." Havelock squinted, remembering. "The traffic accident."

  Loring shook his head, whispering, "No accident."

  "My not?"

  "They wereWt troopers."

  Michael looked up at the naked man strapped to the bed, and at the uniform

  rumpled on the floor. "Of course they weren't. And the patrol car was a

  mock-up; they've got the money for that kind of thing. I should have known;

  you wouldn't have taken it otherwise."

  The wounded agent nodded, his hand emerging from under the blanket,

  gesturing for Havelock to lean closer. "The man and the woman ... from the

  ambulance ... the accident. Any ID's?"

  No.-

  "Same with the troopers ... right?"

  "Right."

  "The accident," whispered Loring, stopping for breath. "Too easy. Man hurt

  ... a woman who won't leave his side. They get in ... to a room . . .

  doctor, nurse ... Randolph. They got him."

  "How could they know Randolph would be there?"

  'Doesn't matter. They'd tell the doctor ... or the nurse to call for him

  ... under a gun. Probably did. They got him. Too easy."

  "And the troopers?"

  "In a hurry ... running like bell. They were sent to break it up, break it

  aU up ... in a hurry."

  THE PARsiFAL Mosmc587

  "How did you f1gure that?'

  "They left the doors open, ran funny ... heavy weapons under their coats.

  The pattern wasn't normal, wasn't right. . . . Apache said the accident was

  a big-balled mafioso the cops came to question. If he was, there'd be ten

  vehicles there, not one." Loring expelled his breath, coughing; blood

  trickled out of the comers of his mouth. He gasped, and resumed breathing.

  The doctor was now behind Havelock.

  "For Christ!s sake," said Taylor quietly but with angry intensity. "Why

  don't you just put a bullet in his bead?"

  "Why don't I put one in yours?" Michael leaned back toward Loring. "Why,

  Charley? Why do you think they were sent in to break it up?"

  "I'm not sure. Maybe I was spotted ... maybe I blew it again."

  "I don't believe that."

  "Don't be so goddamn nice, I can't stand it ... I probably did blow it. .

  . . I'm getting old."

  "Then just pass on your instincts, Methuselah, we need them. You didn~t

  blow anything. You brought us one, you brought us one, Charley."

  ~ Loring tried to raise his shoulders, Michael gently holding him down.

  "Tell me something, Havelock. You said this morning ... about Shippers. 'A

  long time ago.' You said he was programmed a long time ago. Tell me. Is that

  son of a bitch over there a . . . a traveler?"

  "I think be is."

  "Goddamn ... maybe I'm not so old."

  Michael got to his feet and turned to the doctor behind him. "AD right,

  Taylor, be's yours. Get him over to the field and have him taken to the

  best facilities at Bethesda. And you get on the phone and tell those

  mothers the White House wants the finest team of surgeons you've got ready

  and waiting for this man."

  "Yes, sir," said the doctor sardonically. "Anything else, Sir?"

  "Oh, yes, physician. Prepare your bag of magic. You're about to go to

  work."

  Loring was carried out on a stretcher by two paramedics who had been

  standing by; they were given firm instructions

  588 ROBERT LUI)LXTM

  by the doctor as they took away the wounded Cons Op agent.

  Taylor turned to Havelock. "Do we start now?"

  "What about the wounds?" asked Michael looking down at the naked man~s

  taped, blood-streaked riiL arm and left foot.

  "Your friend put tourniquets where they were needed, and I added adhesive;

  the bleeding's arrested. Also, he was damned accurate. Bone was shattered,

  but beyond the pain, nothing'11 drain him. Naturally, I gave him a couple

  of locals to ease him, keep his head clear. "

  "Will they interfere with the chemicals?"

  "I wouldn't have administered them if they did."

  "Then shoot him up, Doctor. I can't waste time."

  Taylor went to his large black leather case, which was open and on a table

  next to the window under the glow of a lamp. He studied the contents for

  several moments, took out three vials and three cased syringes, and placed

  them on the edge of the bed next to the naked man's thigh. The prisoner

  raised his head, his features contorted, his eyes glazed, frenzied; he was

  close to hysterics. Suddenly he began to writhe furiously, and muffled

  animal-like howls came from his throat He stopped, overwhelmed by the pain

  in his right arm, and gasping for breath, he stared at the ceiling. Then

  abruptly he stopped breathing, holding the air in his lungs, his face be-

  coming redder by the second ' eyes now bulging.

  "What the hell is he-?"

  "Get out of my wayl" shouted Havelock, pushing the doetor aside and

  crashing his clenched fist down on the killer's bare stomach. The breath

  exploded out of the traveler's bound mouth, and the eyes and flesh tone

  began returning to normal.

  "Jesw," said Taylor, rushing forward to steady the vials, which were about

  to roll off the edge of the bed. "What was that?"

  Youre dealing with something you may never have dealt Mth before, Doctor.

  They're programmed like robots, killing whomever they're told to

  kill-without any feeling at all, without the slightest concern. Not even

  for themselves."

  "Then he won't negotiate. I thought maybe if he saw these things, he

  might."

  "No way. He'd stall us, throw us off with every plausible

  THE PARSIFAL MOSAJC589

  lie in the books, and they know them all. They're masters of the craft.

  Let's go, Doctor."

  "How do you want to progress? In stages, which will bring him back one step

  at a time, or do you want to chance a maximum? It's the fastest, but

  there's a risk."

  "What's the worst with it?"

  "Incoherence. Disjointed rambling, no logical pattern."

  "No logical . . . ? That's it. I'll chance the incoherence; just get hirn

  away from any patterns that might trigger programmed responses."

  "It doesn't work quite that way. The flow becomes formless; dissociation is

  the first reaction. The key is to hit certain words-"

  "You're saying everything I want to hear, Doctor, a
nd you're also wasting

  time."

  "You think so?' With the swiftness of a surgeon stemming a sudden internal

  eruption, Taylor broke off a vial's tiny glass casing, inserted the

  syringe, withdrew it, and plunged it into the traveler's thigh before the

  bound man knew it was happening. The killer writhed violently, yanking at

  the belts and the torn sheets in an effort to break them, rolling from side

  to side as muffled cries filled the room. "The more be does that, the

  quicker it'll take effect," added Taylor, pressing his hand on the side of

  the stretched, whipping neck. "Only a minute or so."

  Michael watched, fascinated and revolted, as he always was when observing

  the effect of these chemicals on a human being. He had to remind himself

  that this killer bad brutally taken the lives of men and women less than

  three hours ago-bis own people and others, the guilty and the totally

  innocent. How many would moum for them and never understand? And how many

  were laid at the feet of one Michael Havelock, courtesy of Anton Matthias?

  Two career officers, a young staff doctor, a younger nurse, a man named

  Randolph, whose only crime was to try to right a terrible wrong.

  Futility.

  "He's about ready now," said Taylor, studying the filmy, partially closed

  eyes of the prisoner, whose movements had contracted into slow, weaving

  motions, accompanied by moans.

  "You must be happy in your work, Doctor."

  590 ROBEIRT LUDLUM

  "I was always a nosy kid," answered the red-haired man, gently removing the

  striped tie from the traveler's mouth. "Besides, someone's got to do it,

  and Big Uncle paid for my medical degree. My old man couldn't swing a

  bucket of suds In Paddy O'Rourke's saloon. nipay my debt and get out."

  Havelock could not think of a reply any less tasteless than his comment, so

  he leaned over the bed as Taylor backed awav. "May r begin?' be asked.

  "Talk, hes your crossword puzzle."

  "Orders'" began Michael, his band on the headboard, his lips near the

  traveler's ear, his voice firm, steady, low. "Orders, orders, orders. None

  of us can move without our ordersl But we have to he certain, we can~t make

  a mistake. Who can clear our orders, clear our orders now?"

  The prisoner's bead moved back and forth, his mouth~ alternately opening