The Aquaintaine Progession

by Ludlum, Robert

  “Avery was going to stamp me with the label Ihad to wear to get inside Delavane’s network. We’llnever know, but I have an idea he was going to tellme to say that he, A. Preston Halliday, suspectedme of being one of them, that he had insertedhimself in the Comm Tech-Bern merger to threatenme with exposure, to stop me.”

  “Wait a minute.” Connal shook his head. “Pressdidn’t know what you were going to do or how youwere going to do it.”

  “There was only one way to do it, he knew that!He also knew I’d reach the same conclusion once Iunderstood the particulars. The only way to stopDelavane and his field marshals is to infiltrateAquitaine. Why do you think all that money was putup front? I don’t need it and he knew he couldn’tbuy me. But he knew it could be used would haveto be used to get inside and start talking, startgathering evidence…. Call Remington again. Tellhim to prepare an extension.”

  “It’s not Remington, it’s the commander ofSAND PAC an admiral named Hickman. David saidI could expect a call from him tomorrow. I’ll haveto figure that one out and phone Meagen back.Hickman’s uptight; he wants to know who you areand why all the interest.”

  "How well do you know this Hickman?”

  " Fairly well. I was with him in New London andGalveston. He requested me as his CLO in SanDiego; that’s what gave me the stripe.”

  Converse studied Fitzpatrick’s face, then withoutsaying anything he turned and walked to the openbalcony doors. Connal did not interrupt; heunderstood. He had seen too many attorneys, himselfincluded, struck by a thought they had to define forthemselves, an idea upon which a case might hinge.Joel turned around slowly, haltingly, the dim,abstract shadows of a possibility coming into focus.

  “Do it,” he began. “Do what I think yourbrother-in-law might have done. Finish what hemight have said but never got a chance to say it.Assume he and I had that meeting after the mergerconference. Give me the springboard I need.”

  “As you would say, clarification, please, counselor.”

  “Present Hickman with a scenario as it mighthave been written by A. Preston Halliday. Tell himthat flag’s got to remain in place because you havereason to believe I was connected with yourbrother-in-law’s murder. Explain that before Hallidayflew to Geneva he came to see you as he did andtold you he was meeting me, an opposing attorney hesuspected of being involved with corrupt exportlicensing, a legal front for some boardroomprofiteers. Say he said he was going to confront me.Preston Halliday had a history of causes.”

  “Not for the past ten or twelve years, he didn’t,”corrected Fitzpatrick. “He joined the establishmentwith a vengeance and with a healthy respect for thedollar.”

  “It’s the history that counts. He knew that; it wasone of the reasons he came to me. Say you’reconvinced he did confront me, and since millions aremade out of that business you think I methodicallyhad him removed, covering myself by being therewhen he died. I have a certain reputation for beingmethodical.”

  Connal lowered his head and ran his handthrough his hair, then walked in thought toward thehunt table. He stopped, raised his gaze to one of theracehorse prints and turned back to Converse. “Doyou know what you’re asking me to do?”

  “Yes. Give me the springboard that’ll catapult meright in the middle of those would-be GenghisKhans. To do it you’ll have to go further withHickman. Because you’re so person

  ally involved and so goddamned angry which againis the truth tell him to explain your position towhoever wants the flag released. It’s a nonmilitarymatter, so you’re taking what you know to thecivilian authorities.”

  “I understand all that,” said Fitzpatrick.“Everything I say is the truth, as I saw it when I flewover here to find you. Except that I reverse thetargets. Instead of being the one who can help me,you’re now the one I want nailed.”

  “Right on, counselor. And I’m met by awelcoming committee at Leifhelm’s estate.”

  “Then I guess you don’t see.”

  “What?”

  “You’re asking me to go on record implicatingyou in first-degree murder. I’ll be branding you asa killer. Once I say it, I can’t take the words back.”

  “I know that. Do it.”

  George Marcus Delavane twisted his torso in hischair behind the desk in front of the strangelycolored fragmented map on the wall. It was not acontrolled movement; it was an action in search ofcontrol. Delavane did not care for obstrucbons andone was being explained to him now by an admiralin the Fifth Naval District.

  “The status of the Hag is Four Zero,” saidScanlon. “To get it released we’d have to go throughPentagon procedures, and I don’t have to tell youwhat that means. Two senior officers, one fromnaval intelligence, plus a supporting signature fromthe National Security Agency; all would have toappear on the request sheet, the level of the inquirystated, thus escalating the request to a sectordemand. Now, General, we can do all this, but werun the risk “

  “I know the risk,” interrupted Delavane. “Thesignatures are the risk, the identities a risk. Why theFour Zero? Who placed it and why?”

  “The chief legal officer of SAND PAC. Ichecked him out. He’s a lieutenant commandernamed Fitzpatrick, and there’s nothing in his recordto give us any indication as to why he did it.”

  “I’ll tell you why,” said the warlord of Saigon.“He’s hiding something. He’s protecting thisConverse.”

  “Why would a chief legal officer in the Navyprotect a civilian under these circumstances?There’s no connection.

  Furthermore, why would he exercise a Four Zerocondition? It only calls attention to his action.”

  “It also clamps a lid down on that flag.” Delavanepaused, then continued before the admiral couldinterrupt. “This Fitzpatrick,” he said. “You’ve checkedthe master list?”

  “He’s not one of us.”

  “Has he ever been considered? Or approached?”

  " I haven’t had time to find out.” There was thesound of a buzzer, not part of the line over whichthe two men spoke. Scanlon could be heard punchinga button, his voice clear, officious. “Yes?” Silencefollowed, and seconds later the admiral returned toPalo Alto. “It’s Hickman again.”

  “Maybe he has something for us. Call me back.”

  “Hickman wouldn’t give us anything if he had theslightest idea we existed,” said Scanlon. In a fewweeks, he’ll be one of the first to go. If it were up tome he’d be shot.”

  “”Call me back,” said George Marcus Delavane,looking at the map of the new Aquitaine on the wall.

  Chaim Abrahms sat at the kitchen table in hissmall stone Mediterranean villa in Tzahala, a suburbof Tel Aviv favored by the retired military and thosewith sufficient income or influence to live there. Thewindows were open and the breezes from the gardenstirred the oppressive summer’s night air. There wasair conditioning in two other rooms and ceiling fansin three more, but Chaim liked the kitchen. In theold days he and his men would sit in primitivekitchens and plan raids; in the Negev, ammunitionwas often passed about while desert chicken boiledon a wood stove. The kitchen was the soul of thehouse. It gave warmth and sustenance to the body,clearing the mind for tactics as long as the womenleft after performing their chores and did notinterrupt the men with their incessant trivialities. Hiswife was asleep upstairs; so be it. He had little to sayto her anymore, or she to him; she could not helphim now. And if she could, she would not. They hadlost a son in Lebanon, her son she said, a teacher, ascholar, not a soldier, not a killer by choice. Toomany sons were lost on both sides, she said. Oldmen, she said, old men infected the young with theirhatreds and used Biblical legends to justify death inthe pursuit of questionable real estate. Death, shecried. Death before talk that might avert it! She hadforgotten the early days; too many forgot too quickly.Chaim Abrahms did not forget, nor would he ever.

  And his sense of smell was as acute as ever. Thislawyer, this Converse, this talk! It was all too clever,it had the stench of cold, analytical minds, not theheat of believers. The Mossad specialist was thebest, but even the Mossad made mista
kes. Thespecialist looked for a motive, as if one coulddissect the human brain and say this action causedthat reaction, this punishment that commitment tovengeance. Too damned clever! A believer wasfueled by the heat of his convictions. They were hisonly motive, and they did not call for clevermanipulations.

  Chaim knew he was a plainspoken man, a directman, but it was not because he was unintelligent orlacked subtle perceptions; his prowess on thebattlefield proved otherwise. He was direct becausehe knew what he wanted, and it was a waste of timeto pretend and be clever. In all the years he hadlived with his convictions he had never met a fellowbeliever who allowed himself to waste time.

  This Converse knew enough to reach Bertholdierin Paris. He showed how much more he knew whenhe mentioned Leifhelm in Bonn and specificallynamed the cities of Tel Aviv and Johannesburg.What more did he have to prove? Why should heprove it if his belief was there? Why did he notplead his case with his first connection and notwaste time? . . . No, this lawyer, this Converse, wasfrom somewhere else. The Mossad specialist saidthe motive was there for affiliation. He was wrong.The red-hot heat of the believer was not there. Onlycleverness, only talk.

  And the specialist had not dismissed Chaim ssense of smell. As well he should not, as the twosabres had fought together for years, as often as notagainst the Europeans and their connivingways those immigrants who held up the OldTestament as if they had written it, calling the trueinhabitants of Israel uneducated ruffians or clowns.The Mossad specialist respected his sabre brother,it was in his look, that respect. No one could dismissthe instincts of Chaim Abrahms son of Abraham,archangel of darkness to the enemies of Abraham’schildren. Thank God his wife was asleep.

  It was time to call Palo Alto.

  My general, my friend.”

  Shalom, Chaim,” said the warlord of Saigon. Areyou on your way to Bonn?”

  I’m leaving in the morning we’re leaving. VanHeadmer is in the air now. He’ll arrive at BenGurion at

  eight-thirty, and together we’ll take the ten o’clockflight to Frankfurt, where Leifhelm’s pilot will meetus with the Cessna.”

  “Good. You can talk. "

  “We must talk now,” said the Israeli. “What morehave you learned about this Converse?”

  “He becomes more of an enigma, Chaim.”

  “I smell a fraud.”

  “So do I, but perhaps not the fraud I thought.You know what my assessment was. I thought he wasno more than an infantry point, someone being usedby more knowledgeable men Lucas Anstett amongthem to learn far more than they knew or heardrumors about. I don’t discount a degree of minorleaks; they’re to be anticipated and managed, scoffedat as paranoia.”

  “Get to the point, Marcus,” said the impatientAbrahms who always called Delavane by his middlename. He considered it a Hebrew name, in spite ofthe fact that Delavane’s father had insisted on it forhis first son in honor of the Roman Caesar thephilosopher Marcus Aurelius, a proselytiser of

  moderation.

  " Three things happened today,” continued theformer general in Palo Alto. “The first infuriated mebecause I could not understand it, and franklydisturbed me because it portended a far greaterpenetration than I thought possible from a sector Ithought impossible.”

  “What was it?” the Israeli broke in.

  “A firm prohibition was placed on getting part ofConverse’s service record.”

  “Yes!” cried Abrahms, in his voice the sound ofTriumph.

  “What?”

  “Go on, Marcus! I’ll tell you when you’refinished. What was the second calamity?”

  “Not a calamity, Chaim. An explanation soblatantly offered it can’t be turned aside. Leifhelmcalled me and said Converse himself brought upAnstett’s death, claiming to be relieved, but sayinglittle else except that Anstett was his enemy thatwas the word he used.”

  “So instructed!” Abrahm’s voice reverberatedaround the kitchen. “What was the third gift, mygeneral?”

  “The most bewildering as well asenlightening and, Chaim, do not shout into thephone. You are not at one of your stadium rallies orprovoking the Knesset.”

  "I am in the field, Marcus. Right now! Pleasecontinue my friend.”

  “The man who clamped the lid down onConverse’s military record is a naval officer who wasthe brother-in-law of Preston Halliday.”

  “Geneva! Yes!”

  “Stop that!”

  “My apologies, my dear friend. It’s just all soperfect!”

  “Whatever you have in mind,” said Delavane"may be negated by the man’s reason. This navalofficer, this brother-in-law, believes Converseengineered Halliday’s murder.”

  "Of course! Perfect!”

  “You will keep your voice down!” The cry of thecat on a frozen lake was heard.

  “Again my deepest and most sincere apologies,my general. Was that all this naval officer said?”

  ".No, he made it clear to the commander of hisbase in San Diego that Halliday had come to himand told him he was meeting a man in Geneva hebelieved was involved with illegal exports to illegaldestinations. An attorney for profiteers inarmaments. He intended to confront this man, thisinternational lawyer named Converse, and threatento expose him. What do we have?”

  “A fraud !”

  “But on whose side, sabre? The volume of yourvoice doesn’t convince me.”

  “Be convinced! I’m right. This Converse is thedesert scorpions”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Don’t you see? The Mossad seesI”

  “The Mossad?”

  “Yesl I talked with our specialist and he senseswhat I smell he admits the possibility! I grant you,my general, my honored warrior, that he hasinformation that led him to think this Conversemight be genuine, that he wanted truly to be withus, but when I said I smelled bad meat, he grantedone other, exceptional possibility. Converse may ormay not be programmed, but he could be an agentfor his government!”

  “A provocateur?”

  “Who knows, Marcus? But the pattern is soperfect. First, a prohibition is placed on his militaryrecord it will tell us something, we know that.Then he responds in the negative about the death ofan enemy not his, but ours, and claims

  he was his enemy too so simple, so instructable.Finally, it is insinuated that this Converse was thekiller in Geneva so orderly, so precisely to hisadvantage. We are dealing with very analytical mindsthat watch every move in the chess game, and matchevery pawn with a king.”

  “Yet everything you say can be reversed. He couldbe ” “He can’t be!” cried Abrahms.

  “Why, Chaim? Tell me why?”

  “There is no heat, noire in him! It is not the wayof a believer! We are not clever, we are adamant!”

  George Marcus Delavane said nothing for severalmoments, and the Israeli knew better than to speak.He waited until the quiet cold voice came back onthe line. “Have your meeting tomorrow, General.Listen to him and be courteous; play the game heplays. But he must not leave that house until I givethe order. He may never leave it.”

  “Shalom, my friend.”

  “Shalom, Chaim.”

  Valerie approached the glass doors of her stu-dio identical with the doors of her balconyupstairs and looked out at the calm, sun-washedwaters of Cape Ann. She thought briefly of the boatthat had dropped anchor so frighteningly in front ofher house several nights ago. It had not been back;whatever had happened was past, leaving questionsbut no answers. If she closed her eyes she could stillsee the figure of a man crawling up out of the cabinlight, and the glow of the cigarette, and she stillwondered what that man was doing, what he wasthinking. Then she remembered the sight of the twomen in the early light, framed by the dark rims of herbinoculars staring back at her with far more pow-erful lenses. Were they novices finding a safe harbor?Amateurs navigating the dark waters of a coastline atnight? Questions, no answers.

  Whatever, it was past. A brief, disturbing interludethat

  gave rise to black imaginings demons in search oflogic, as Joel would say.

 
She tossed her long, dark hair aside andreturned to her easel, picking up a brush andputting the final dabs of burnt umber beneath theshadowed sand dunes of wild grass. She steppedback, studied her work, and swore to herself for thefifth time that the oil painting was finished. It wasanother seascape; she never tired of them, andfortunately she was beginning to get a fair share ofthe market. Of course there were those painters inthe Boston-Boothbay axis who claimed she hadvirtually cornered the market, but that was rubbish.Indeed her prices had risen satisfactorily as a resultof the critical approval accorded her two showingsat the Copley Galleries, but the truth was that shecould hardly afford to live where she lived and theway she lived without at least a part of Joel’s checkevery month.

  Then again, not too many artists had a house onthe beach with an attached twenty-by-thirty-footstudio enclosed by full-length glass doors and witha ceiling that was literally one entire skylight. Therest of the house, the original house, on thenorthern border of Cape Ann was morerambling-quaint than functional. The initialarchitecture was early-coastconfusion, with lots ofheavy bleached wood and curliques, a balustradedsecond-story balcony, and outsized bay windows inthe front room that were charming to look at andlook out but leaked fiercely when the winter windscame off the ocean. No amount of putty or sashingcompound seemed to work; nature was extracting aprice for observing her beauty.

  Still, it was Val’s dream house, the one she hadpromised herself years ago she would someday beable to afford. She had come back from the Ecoledes Beaux Arts in Paris prepared to assault NewYork’s art world via the Greenwich Vil-lage-Woodstock route only to have stark reality alterher plans. The family circumstances had always beensufficiently healthy for her to live comfortably, albeitnot lavishly, throughout three years in college andtwo more in Paris. Her father was a passably goodif excessively enthusiastic amateur painter whoalways complained that he had not taken the risksand gone totally into the fine arts rather thanarchitecture. As a result, he supported his only childboth morally and financially, in a very real senseliving through her progress and devoted to herdetermination. And her mother slightly mad,always loving, always supportive in anything andevery