The Aquaintaine Progession

by Ludlum, Robert

  “It is ever so, my dearest. Eight o’clock.”

  The secretary hung up the phone, rose from thechair and smoothed her dress. She opened a drawerand took out a purse with long straps; she slipped itover her shoulder and walked to her employer’sclosed door. She knocked.

  “Yes?” asked Mattilon inside.

  “It is Suzanne, monsieur.”

  “Come in, come in, ” said Rene, leaning back inhis chair as the woman entered. “The last letter isfilled with incomprehensible language, no?”

  “Not at all, monsieur. It’s just that I . . . well, I’mnot sure it’s proper to say.”

  “What could be improper? And if it is, at my ageI’d be so flattered I’d probably tell my wife.”

  “Oh, monsieur . . .”

  “No, really, Suzanne, you’ve been here whatnow? a week, ten days? One would think you hadbeen here for months. Your work is excellent and Iappreciate your Wiling in.

  “Your secretary is a dear friend, monsieur. Icould do no less.”

  “Well, I thank you. I hope the good Lord seesHis way to pull her through. Young people today,they drive so fast so terribly fast and sodangerously. I’m sorry, what is it, Suzanne?”

  “I’ve had no lunch, sir. I was wondering “

  “My Cod, I’m inconsiderate! I’m afraid it goeswith two partners who take August seriously and goon holiday! Please as long as you like, and I insistyou bring the bill to me and let me reimburse you.”

  “That’s not necessary, but thank you for the offer.”

  “Not an offer, Suzanne, an order. Have lots of wineand

  let’s both of us make messes of my partners” clients.Now, off you go.”

  “Thank you, monsieur.” Suzanne went to the dooropened it slightly and then stopped. She turned herhead and saw that Mattilon was absorbed in reading.She closed the door silently, reached into her purseand withdrew a large pistol with the perforatedcylinder of a silencer attached to the barrel. Shepivoted slowly and walked toward the desk.

  The lawyer looked up as she approached. “What?”

  Suzanne fired four times in rapid succession.Rene Mattilon sprang back in his chair, his skullpierced from his right eye to his left forehead. Bloodstreaked down his face and over his white shirt.

  “Where in God’s name have you been?” criedValerie into the phone. “I’ve been trying to reach yousince early this morning!”

  “Early this morning,” said Lawrence Talbot, “whenthe news broke, I knew I had to get the first plane toWashington.”

  “You don’t believe what they’re saying? You can’t!”

  “I do, and worse, I feel responsible. I feel as if I’dunwittingly pulled the trigger myself, and in a waythat’s exactly what happened.”

  “Goddamn you, Larry, explain that.”

  “Joel called me from a hotel in Bonn only, hedidn’t know which one. He wasn’t rational, Val. Hewas calm one moment, shouting the next, finallyadmitting to me that he was confused and frightened.He rambled on most of the timeincoherently telling some incredible story of havingbeen captured and thrown into a stone house in thewoods, and how he escaped, hiding in the river,eluding guards and patrols and killing a man hecalled a ’scout.’ He kept screaming that he had to getaway, that men were searching for him, in the woods,along the riverbank…. Something’s happened to him.He’s gone back to those terrible days when he was a

  prisoner of war. Everything he says, everything hedescribes, is a variation of those experiences thepain, the stress, the tensions of running for his lifethrough the jungles and down rivers. He’s sick, mydear, and this morning was the horrible proof. "

  Valerie felt the hollowness in her throat, thesudden, awful vacuum below. She was beyondthinking; she could only react to words. “Why didyou say you were responsible, that in some way youpulled the trigger?”

  “I told him to go to Peregrine. I tried toconvince him that Peregrine would listen to him,that he wasn’t the man Joel thought he was.”

  ” "Thought he was’? What did Joel say?”

  “Very little that made sense. He ranted aboutgenerals and field marshals and some obscurehistorical theory that brought all the commandersfrom various wars and armies together in acombined effort to take control of governments. Hewasn’t lucid. He d pretend to be, but the minute Iquestioned a statement he made or a point in hisstory, he’d blow up and tell me it didn’t matter, orI wasn’t listening, or I was too dense to understand.But at the end he admitted he was terribly tired andconfused and how badly he needed sleep. That waswhen I made my last pitch about Peregrine, but Joeldidn’t trust him. He was actually hostile toward himbecause he said he saw a former Gemman general’scar go through the embassy gates, and as you mayor may not know, Peregrine was an outstandingofficer during the Second World War. I explained aspatiently and as fimmly as I could that Peregrinewas not one of "them,’ that he was no friend of themilitary. . . . Obviously, I failed. Joel reached him,set up a rendezvous and killed him. I had no ideahow sick he was.”

  “Larry, “ began Valerie slowly, her voice weak. ”I hear everything you say, but it doesn’t ring true. Itisn’t that I don’t believe you Joel once said youwere an embarrassingly honest man butsomething’s missing. The Converse I know and livedwith for four years never bent the facts to supportabstractions he wanted to believe. Even when hewas angry as hell, he couldn’t do that. I told himhe’d make a lousy painter because he couldn’t benda shape to fit a concept. It wasn’t in him, and Ithink he explained it. At five hundred miles anhour, he said, you can mistake a shadow on theocean for a carrier if your instruments are out.”

  “You’re telling me he doesn’t lie.”

  “I’m sure he does I’m sure he did but neverabout important things. It simply isn’t in him.”

  “That was before he became ill, violently ill. Hekilled that man in Paris, he admitted it to me.”

  Valerie gasped. “No!”

  “Yes, I’m afraid. Just as he killed Walter Peregrine.”

  “Because of some obscure historical theory? It’sall wrong, Larry!”

  “Two psychiatrists at the State Departmentexplained it, but in phrases I’m sure I’d mangle if Itried to repeat them. "Progressive latentretrogression,’ I think, was one of them.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “But you may be right about one thing. Geneva.Remember you said it all had something to do withGeneva?”

  “I remember. What about Geneva?”

  “It’s where it started, everyone in Washingtonagrees with that. I don’t know if you’ve read thepapers “

  “Only the Globe; it’s delivered. I haven’t left thephone.”

  “It was Jack Halliday’s son stepson, actually. Hewas the lawyer who was killed in Geneva. It seemshe was a prominent leaderof the antiwar movementin the sixties and he was Converse’s opponent in themerger. It was established that they met forbreakfast before the conference. The theory is thathe baitedJoel, and we can assume it was brutal, as hehad a reputation for going for the jugular.”

  “Why would he do that?” asked Val, her frayednerves now suddenly alert.

  “To throw Joel off. To distract him. Remember,they were dealing in millions, and the attorney whocame off best could do very well for himself clientslining up all over Wall Street to retain him. There’seven evidence that Halliday succeeded.”

  “What evidence?”

  “The first part’s technical, so I won’t try toexplain it except to say that there was a subtletransfer of voting stock which under certain isolatedmarket conditions might give Halliday’s clients moresay in management than the merger intended. Joelaccepted it; I don’t think he would have normally.”

  “Normally? What’s the other part?”

  “Joel’s behavior at the conference itself.According to the reports interviews with everyonein that room he wasn’t himself, he was distracted,some said agitated. Several law

  yers on both sides commented on the fact that hekept to himself, standing by a window most of thetime, looking o
ut as if he expected something. Hisconcentration was so lax that questions addressed tohim had to be repeated, and when they were, heappeared as though he didn’t understand them. Hismind was somewhere else, on something thatconsumed him.”

  “Larry!” shouted Valerie. “What are you saying?That Joel had something to do with this Hallidaybeing killed?”

  “It can’t be ruled out,” said Talbot sadly. “Eitherpsychologically or in light of what people saw in theanteroom when Halliday died.”

  “What they saw?” whispered Valerie. “The papersaid he died with Joel holding his head.”

  “I’m afraid there’s more, my dear. I’ve read thereports. According to a receptionist and two otherattorneys, there was a violent exchange betweenthem just before Halliday died. No one’s sure whatwas said, but they all agree it seemed ViCiOUS,with Halliday clutching Joel’s lapels, as thoughaccusing him. Later, when questioned by theGeneva police, Joel claimed there was no coherentconversation, only the hysterical words of a dyingman. The police report added that he was not acooperative witness.”

  “My God, he was probably in shock! You knowwhat he went through the sight of that man dyingliterally in his arms must have been traumatic forhim!”

  “Admittedly, this is hindsight, Valerie, buteverything must be examined above all, hisbehavior.”

  “What do they think he did? What’s the theorynow? That Joel went out into the street, sawsomeone who fit the bill and hired him to kill aman? Really, Larry, this is ludicrous. “

  “There are more questions, than there areanswers, certainly, but what’s happened what weknow has happened isn’t ludicrous at all. It’stragic.”

  “All right, all right,” said Valerie, her wordsrushed. “But why would he do it? Why would hewant Halliday killed? Why. “

  “I think that’s obvious. How he must havedespised someone like Halliday. A man who stayedsafely at home, who condemned and ridiculedeverything men like Joel went through, calling themgoons and murderers and lackeys and unnecessarysacrifices. Along with his hated "commanders,’

  the Hallidays of this world must have stood foreverything else he loathed. One group ordering meninto battle, to be maimed, killed, captured . . .tortured, the other making a mockery of everythingthey endured. Whatever Halliday said at thatbreakfast table must have made something snap inJoel’s head.”

  “And you think,” said Valerie quietly, the wordsechoing in her throat, “that’s why he wanted Hallidaydead?”

  “Latent vengeance. It’s the prevalent theory, theconsensus, if you will.”

  “I don’s "will.’ Because it’s not true, it couldn’t betrue.”

  “These are highly qualified experts, Val, doctorsin the behavioral sciences. They’ve analyzedeverything in the records and they feel the pattern isthere. Shock-induced, instant pathologicalschizophrenia.”

  “That’s very impressive. They should embroiderit on their Snoopy baseball caps because that’s whereit belongs.”

  “I don’t think you’re in a position to dispute “

  “I’m in a hell of a position,” interrupted theex-Mrs. Converse. “But nobody bothered to ask me,or Joel’s father, or his sister who just happened tohave been one of those wild-eyed protesters you allspeak of. There’s no way Halliday could haveprovoked Joel the way they say he did at breakfast,lunch or dinner.”

  “You can’t make such a statement, my dear. Yousimply don’t know that.”

  “I do know, Larry. Because Joel thought theHallidays of this world, as you put it, were right. Hewasn’t always crazy about the way they did things,but he thought they were right!”

  “I don’t believe that. Not after what he wentthrough.”

  “Then go to another source if that’s what youcall it. To some of those records your high priests ofthe behavioral sciences conveniently overlooked.When Joel came back, there was a parade for him atTravis Air Force Base in California, where he wasgiven everything but the keys to every starlet’sapartment in Los Angeles. Am I right?”

  “I recall there was a military welcome for a manwho had escaped under extraordinary circumstances.The Secretary of State greeted him at the plane, infact.”

  “In absolute fact, Larry. Then what? Where elsewas he paraded?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  "Look at the records. Nowhere. He wouldn’t doit. How many invitations did he get? From howmany towns and cities and companies andorganisations all pushed like hell by the WhiteHouse? A hundred, five hundred, five thousand? Atleast that many, Larry. And do you know how manyhe accepted? Tell me, Larry, do you know? Didthose high priests talk about this?”

  “It wasn’t an issue.”

  “Of course it wasn’t. It warped the pattern, itbent the shapes Joel Converse wouldn’t bend! Theanswer is zero Larry. He wouldn’t do it, any of it!He thought one day more of that war was one moreday in hell too long. He refused to lend his name.”

  “What are you trying to say?” said Talbot sternly.

  “Halliday wasn’t his enemy, not the way you’retrying to paint him. The brushstrokes aren’t there.They’re not on the canvas.”

  “Your metaphors are more than I can handle,Val. What are you trying to tell meP”

  “That something smells, Larry. It’s so rotten Ican hardly breathe, but the stench isn’t coming frommy former husband. It’s coming from all of you.”

  “I have to take exception to that. All I want todo is help I thought you knew that.”

  “I do, really I do. It’s not your fault. Good-bye,Larry.”

  “I'll call you the minute I learn anything.”

  “Do that. Good-bye.” Valerie hung up the phoneand looked at her watch. It was time to get down toLogan Airport in Boston to pick up RogerConverse.

  “Koln in zehn Minuten!” shouted the voice overthe loudspeaker.

  Converse sat by the window, his face next to theglass as the towns sped by on the way toCologne Bornheim, Wesel, Bruhl. The train wasperhaps three-quarters full which was to say thateach double seat had at least one occupant. Whenthey pulled out of the station a woman had beensitting where he sat now, a fashionably dressedsuburbanite. Several seats behind them anotherwoman a friend spotted her. His seatmate spoketo Joel. The brief attention she had called to both ofthem when he could not reply unnerved him. Heshrugged and shook his head; she exhaled im-patient}y, got up in irritation and joined her friend.

  She had left a newspaper behind, the samenewspaper with his photograph on the front page,which remained flat out on the seat. He stared at ituntil he realized what he was doing and instantlyshifted seats, picking up the paper and folding it sothat the picture would be out of sight. He glancedaround cautiously, holding his hand casually abovehis lips, frowning, pensive, trying to seem like a manin thought whose eyes saw nothing. But he had seenanother pair of eyes and they were studyinghim staring at him while the owner was engaged inwhat appeared to be a lively conversation with anelderly woman next to him. The man had lookedaway, and Converse had a brief half-second toobserve the face before he turned to the window. Heknew that face; he had talked to that man, but hecould not remember where it was or when it was,only that they had spoken. The realisation was asmaddening as it was frightening. Where was it? Whenwas it? Did the man know him, know his name?

  If the man did, he had done nothing about it. Hehad returned his concentration to the woman, theconversation still lively. Joel tried to picture thewhole man, perhaps it would help. He was large, notso much in height as in girth, and on the surfacejovial, but Converse sensed a meanness in him. Wasthat now or before? When was before? Wherek Tenminutes or so had passed since the exchange oflooks, end Joel was no further ahead in peeling awaythe layers of memory. He was stymied and afraid.

  “Wir kommen in zwei Minuten in Koln an. Bitteachten Sie auf Ihr Gepa’ck!”

  A number of passengers got up from their seats,tugging at their jackets and skirts, reaching forluggage. As the train began to slow down, Conversepressed his forehead against the cool glass of thewindow. He let
his mind go slack, unfocused,expecting the next few minutes to tell him what todo.

  The minutes passed, the suspension on hold, hismind blank as passengers got off and others got in,many carrying attache cases, several very much likehis own, which he had left in a trash can in Bonn. Hehad wanted to keep it but he could not. It had beena gift from Valerie, as his gold pen was a gift, bothinitiated in those better days…. No, not better, hetold himself, simply different. Nothing was better orworse; there were no comparisons wherecommitments were con

  corned. They either stuck or they did not. Theirscame unstuck.

  Then why, he asked himself, as the train groundto a stop at Cologne, had he sent the contents of hisbriefcase to Val? His answer was the essence oflogic, he thought. She would know what to do; theothers would not. Talbot, Brooks and Simon wereout. His sister, Virginia, was even further out. Hisfather? The fly-boy with a sense of responsibilitythat went as far as his last wing dip? It could not bethe pilot. He loved old Roger, more than hesuspected Roger loved him, but the pilot couldnever come to grips with the ground. Hard earthmeant relationships, and old Roger never knew howto handle them even with a wife he claimed to haveloved dearly. The doctors said she had died of acoronary occlusion; her son thought it was fromneglect. Roger was not on the scene, had not beenfor several weeks. So that left Valerie . . . his onceand former Valerie.

  “Entschuldigen Sie. Ist dieser Platz fret?” Theintruding voice came from a man about his own age,carrying an attache case.

  Joel nodded, assuming the words referred to theempty seat beside him.

  “Danke, ” said the man, sitting down, the attachecase at his feet. He withdrew a newspaper fromunder his left arm and snapped it open. Conversetensed as he saw his photograph, his own seriousface staring at him. He turned again to the window,pulling the soft brim of the hat lower, his facedown, hoping he looked like an exhausted travellerwishing only to catch a few minuses’ sleep.Moments later, as the train started forward, he hadan inkling that he had succeeded.

  “Verru’ckt, nicht wahr.P” said the man with theattache case reading the newspaper.

  Joel stirred and blinked open his eyes beneaththe brim of the hat. “Umm?”