“No, son,” replied the Southerner. " It s a firingsquad. They just got their orders.”
“My God!”
“We follow them, staying low and out of sight.You may find your old buddy Fitzpatrick, after all.”
The next minutes were straight out of Kafka,thought Joel. The ten men lined up and walked outthe door leading to building 2. Suddenly floodlightsblazed throughout the parade ground, the trip lightsobviously turned off as the squad walked out on theconcrete. Two men with automatics in their handsran to building 4; they unlocked and then unboltedthe heavy door, and raced inside shouting orders aslights were turned on.
“Alles auistehen! "Raus! Mach schnell! Schnell!”
Seconds later, gaunt, manacled figures beganstraggling out in their ragged clothes, blinking at theharsh lights, some barely able to walk and supportedby others who were stronger. Ten, twenty,twenty-five, thirty-two, forty. . . forty-three.Forty-three prisoners of Aquitaine about to beexecuted! They were marched toward the concretewall fronting the platform at the far end of theparade ground.
It happened with the hysterical force of a crowdgone mad! The condemned men suddenly bolted inall directions, those nearest the two guards with theautomatics crashing the chains of their manacledhands into the stunned faces. Shots rang out, threeprisoners fell and writhed on the ground. The firingsquad raised their rifles.
“Now, you mother-lovin’ catfish hunters!” shoutedJohnny Reb as the entire Scharhorn unit raced intothe melee, pistols firing, muted spits mingling withthe ear-shattenng explosions of the unsilencedweapons.
It was over in less than twenty seconds. The ten menof
Aquitaine lay on the ground. Six were dead, threewounded, one on his knees trembling with fear. Twomen of the Scharhorn unit sustained minorwounds the American pilot and one other.
“Connal!” roared Joel, racing about the scatteredprisoners, relieved that most were moving.“Fitzpatrick! Where the hell are you? "
"Over here, Lieutenant,” said a weak voice onConverse’s right. Joel threaded his way through thefallen bodies and knelt down beside the frail,bearded Navy lawyer. “You took your sweet timegetting here,’ continued the commander. “But thenjunior-grade officers usually have deficiencies.”
“What happened back there?’ asked Converse.“You could all have been killed!
"That was the point, wasn t it? It was made clearto us last night, so we figured what the hell?’
“But why you? Why all of you?
“We talked and we couldn t figure it out. Exceptone thing we were all senior officers on thirty- toforty-day leaves, most of them summer leaves. Whatdid it mean? ”
“It was meant to throw people off if they beganto see a pattern. There are ninety-seven men out inhit teams all on summer leaves. Numerically youwere nearly fifty percent of that number,presumably above suspicion. You were a bonus andit saved your life.”
Suddenly Connal whipped his head to the left.A man was running out of building 5, racing downthe concrete path “That’s the warden! ’shoutedFitzpatrick as loud as he could “Stop him! If he getsinto the second barracks he ll blow the whole placeup!
Joel got to his feet and, gun in hand, startedafter the racing figure as fast as his painful legswould carry him. The man had reached themidpoint of building 3; he had less than thirty yardsto go to the door of 2. Converse fired, the bulletwas way off its mark, ricocheting off a steel windowframe. The man reached the door, smashed it openand slammed it shut Joel raced to it and crashed thefull weight of his body into the heavy wood. It gaveway, swinging violently back into the wall. The manwas running to a metal-encased panel, Conversefired wildly, frantically, again and again. The manspun wounded in the legs, but he had opened thepanel. He reached up for a bank of switches. Joellunged, gripping the man s hand, smashing his headagainst the stone floor.
Gasping for breath, Converse crawled away fromthe man, his hands covered with warm blood, hisempty pistol on the floor. One of the Scharhorn teamburst through the door. “Are you fine?” he asked inan accent Joel could not place.
“Splendid,” said Converse, feeling weak and sick.
The hired gun walked past Joel and glanced atthe still figure on the floor on his way to the openpanel. He studied it and reached into his pocket forsome kind of small, multifaceted tool. In seconds hewas taking out screws and pulling off the interiormetal plating. Moments later, with another part ofthe instrument he was cutting wires far back intotheir receptacles, leaving nothing but stubs of copper.
“You are not to worry,” said the man, finished. “Iam best of Norwegian demolitions. Now we do notconcern ourselves that a stray pig can do damage.Come, there is much work left to do.” The teammember stopped and stood above Converse. “Weowe you our lives. We will pay.”
“It’s not necessary,” said Joel, getting up.
“It is the custom,” replied the man, heading for thedoor.
Out on the parade ground, Aquitaine’s prisonerswere sitting up against the wall all but five, whosebodies were covered with sheets. Converse went overto Fitzpatrick.
“We lost them,” said the naval officer, with nostrength in his voice.
“Look to the things you believe in, Connal,” saidJoel. “It may sound banal, but it’s the only thing Ican think of to say.”
“It’s good enough.” Fitzpatrick looked up, a wansmile on his lips. “Thanks for reminding me. Go on.They need you over there.”
“Larson!” shouted Johnny Reb, standing abovethe trembling unhurt guard. “Get in here!”
The professorial Englishman walked hesitantlythrough the steel door at the base of the airstrip intothe floodlights. He came over to the Rebel, his eyeswandering about the parade ground, his expressionone of consternation and awe. “Good Cod!” heuttered.
“I guess that says it,” said the Southerner as twomembers of the Scharhorn team came running out ofbuilding 5. “What’d you find ?” yelled Johnny Reb.
“Seven others!” shouted one of the men. “They’rein a toilet, which is suitable to their conditions!”
“I say!” said Ceoffrey Larson, raising his voice.“Would any by chance be the computer chap?”
“We did not ask!”
“Go ask!” ordered the Rebel. “Time’s run out!”He turned to Converse. "I’ve been in touch withyour lady. The word out of Israel and Rome isdownright awful some of the hit teams eludedStone’s men. The demonstrations began an hourago, and already twelve government people havebeen killed. In Jerusalem and Tel Aviv they’rescreaming for Abrahms to take over. In Rome thepolice can’t handle the riots and the panic; theArmy’s moved in.”
Joel felt the sharp, hollow pain in his lowerchest and for the first time noticed the early light inthe sky beyond the walls. The day had come, and sohad the killing. Everywhere. “Oh, Jesus, ” he said.
“The computer, boy!” roared Johnny Reb, hispistol jammed into the temple of the guard beneathhim. “You don’t have any choices left, catfish!”
“Baracke pier!”
“Danke! It’s in building four. Come on, Brit, let’sgo! Move!”
The enormous, glistening machine covering thelength of the fifteen-foot wall stood in an air-filteredroom. With Joel’s note pad in front of him, Larsonspent nine agonising minutes studying it, turningdials, punching the keyboard and flipping switcheson the console. Finally he announced “There’s alock on the inner reels. They can’t be releasedwithout an access code.”
“What in goddamned catfish hell are you talkie’about!” screamed the Rebel.
“There’s a predesigned set of symbols that wheninserted releases the springs that permit the lockedreels to be activated. It’s why I asked if there was acomputer man about.”
Johnny Reb’s radio hummed, and Converseripped it off the Southerner’s Velcroed chest.
“Cal?”
“Darling! You’re all right?”
“Yes. What’s happening?”
“Radio-France. Bombs set off in the ElyseePalace. Two deputies were shot riding to th
e dawnrallies. The government’s calling in the armedforces.”
“Christ! Out!”
A man was brought into the room by twomembers of the Scharhorn team, who were grippinghim by the arms. “He did not care to admit hisfunction,” said the hired gun on the
left. “But when all were against the wall, the otherswere not so secretive.”
The Rebel went to the man and grabbed him bythe throat, but Joel, with the hunting knife in hishand, rushed forward, pushing the Southerner aside.
“I’ve been through a lot because of you bastards,”he said, raising the bloodstained blade to the man snose. “And now it’s the end!” He shoved the pointinto the man’s nostrils; the computer expertscreamed as blood erupted and streamed down.Then Converse raised the blade again, the point nowin the corner of the man’s right eye. “The codes, orit goes inl” he roared.
“Zwei Bins, null, elf!” Again the technician screamed.
“Process it!” yelled Joel.
“They’refree!” said the Englishman.
“Now the symbols!’ cried Converse, shoving theman back into the hands of the Scharhorn invaders.
They all looked in astonishment at the greenletters on the black television screen. Name aftername, rank after rank, position after position. Larsonhad punched the printout button, and the curling,continuous sheet of paper spewed out with hundredsof identities.
“It won’t do any good!” shouted Joel. “We can’t get them vat!”
“Don’t be so antediluvian, chap,” said theEnglishman, pointing to a strange-looking telephonerecessed in the console. “This is splendid equipment.There are those lovely satellites in the sky, and I cansend this to anyone anywhere with compatiblesoftware. This is the age of technology, no longerAquarius.”
“Get it out, ” said Converse, leaning against thewall and sliding down to the floor in exhaustion.
The world watched, stunned by the eruption ofwidespread assassinations and random homicidalviolence. Everywhere people cried out for protection,for leadership, for an end to the savagery that hadturned whole cities into battlegrounds, as panicked,polarized groups of citizens hurled rocks and gas atone another and finally turned to bullets becausebullets were being fired at them. Since few could tellwho their enemies were, anyone who attacked wasassumed to be an enemy, and the attackers wereeverywhere, the orders issued from unseen commandposts. The police were helpless; then militias and state troops appeared,but it was soon evident that they and their leaderswere also powerless. Stronger measures would haveto be implemented to control the chaos. Martial lawwas proclaimed. Everywhere. And militarycommanders would assume control. Everywhere.
In Palo Alto, (California, former general of theArmy George Marcus Delavane sat strapped to hiswheelchair, watching the hysteria recorded on threetelevision sets. The set on the left went blank,preceded by the screams of a mobile crew as theirtruck came under sudden attack and the entire unitwas blown up by grenades. On the center screen awoman newscaster, with tears streaming down herface, read in a barely controlled, angry voice thereports of wholesale destruction and wantonmurder. The screen on the right showed a Marinecolonel being interviewed on a barricaded street inNew York’s financial district. His .45 Marine issueColt automatic was in his hand as he tried to answerquestions while shouting orders to his subordinates.The screen on the left pulsated with new light as afamiliar anchorman came into focus, his eyes glassy. He started to speak, but could not; he turned in hischair and vomited as the camera swung away to anunsuspecting newsroom editor screaming into aphone, “Goddamned shit-bastards! What the fuckhappened?” He, too, was weeping. He pounded thedesk with his fist, then collapsed, dropping his headon his arms while his whole body shook in spasmsas the screen again went dark.
A slow smile emerged on Delavane’s face.Abruptly he reached for two remote controls,switching off the sets on the right and left, as heconcentrated on the canter screen. A helmetedArmy lieutenant general was picked by the cameraas he strode into a press room somewhere inWashington. The soldier removed his helmet, wentto a lectern and spoke harshly into the microphone.“We have sealed off all roads leading toWashington, and my words are to serve as a warningto unauthorised personnel and civilians everywhere!Any attempts to cross the checkpoints will be metby immediate force. My orders are brief and clear.Shoot to kill. My authority is derived from theemergency powers just granted to me by theSpeaker of the House in the absence of thePresident and the Vice President, who have beenflown out of the capital for security purposes. The military is now in charge, the Arm, its spokesman, and martial law is in full effect untilfurther notice.”
Delavane snapped off the set with a gesture oftriumph. “We did it, Paul!” he said, turning to hisuniformed aide, who stood next to the fragmentedmap on the wall. “Not even the whining pacifistswant that law reversed! And if they do . . .” Thegeneral of Aquitaine raised his right hand, his indexfinger extended, thumb upright, and mimed a seriesof pistol shots.
“Yes, it’s done,” agreed the aide, reaching downto Delavane’s desk and opening a drawer.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry, General. This also must be done.” Theaide pulled out a .357 magnum revolver.
Before he could raise it, however, Delavane’s lefthand shot up out of the inside cushion of thewheelchair. In it was a short-barreled automatic. Heshouted as he fired four times in rapid succession.
“You think I haven’t been waiting for this? Scum!Coward! Traitor! You think I trust any of you? Theway you look at me! The way you talk in whispers inthe hallways! None of you can stand the fact thatwithout legs I’m better than all of you! Now youknow, scum! And soon the others will know becausethey’ll be shot! Executed for treason against thefounder of Aquitaine! You think any of you areworth trusting? You’ve all tried to be what I am andyou can’t do it!”
The uniformed aide had crashed back into thewall, into the fragmented map. Gasping, bloodflowing from his neck, he stared wide-eyed at theraving general. From some inner core of strength heraised the powerful magnum and fired once as hecollapsed.
George Marcus Delavane was blown across theroom, a massive hemorrhage in his chest, as thewheelchair spun and fell on its side, its strapped-inoccupant dead.
No one knew when it started to happen, butgradually, miraculously, the gunfire slowly began todiminish. The restoration of order was accompaniedby squads of uniformed men, many units havingbroken away from their commanders, racing throughthe streets and buildings and confronting other men.It was soldier against soldier, the eyes of the inter-rogators filled with anger and disgust, staring at facesconsumed with arrogance and defiance. Thecommanders of
Aquitaine were adamant. They were right! Couldnot their inferiors understand? Many refused tosurrender, preferring final assaults that cost themtheir lives. Others bit into cyanide capsules.
In Palo Alto, California, a legless legend namedGeorge Marcus Delavane was found shot to death,but apparently not before he had been able to killhis assailant, an obscure Army colonel. No oneknew what had happened. In Southern France, thebodies of two other legendary heroes were found ina mountain ravine, each of whom, upon leaving achateau in the Alps, had been given a weapon.Generals Bertholdier and LeifLelm had lost.General Chaim Abrahms had disappeared. Onmilitary bases throughout the Middle East, all Eu-rope, Great Britain, Gnada and the United States,officers of high rank and responsibilities werechallenged by subordinates with levered weapons.Were they members of an organization calledAquitaine? Their names were on a list!Answer! InNorfolk, Virginia, an admiral named Scanlon threwhimself out of a sixth-story window; and in SanDiego, California, another admiral named Hickmanwas ordered to arrest a four-striper who lived in LaJolla the charge: murder of a legal officer in thehills above that elegant suburb. Colonel AlanMetcalf personally made the call the chiefoperations officer of Nellis Air Force Base; theorder was blunt throw into a maximum-securitycell the major who was in charge of all aircraftmaintenance. In Washington the venerated SenatorMario Parelli was cal
led out of the cloakroom by aCaptain Guardino of Army G-2 and taken away;while at State and the Pentagon, eleven men inarmaments controls and procurements were placedunder guard.
In Tel Aviv, Israeli Army intelligence roundedup twenty-three aides and fellow officers of GeneralChaim Abrahms, as well as one of the Mossad’smost brilliant analysts. In Paris, thirty-oneassociates military and nonmilitary of GeneralJacques-Louis Bertholdier, including deputydirectors of both the Surete and Interpol, were heldin isolation, and in Bonn no fewer than fifty-sevencolleagues of General Erich Leifhelm, among themformer Wehrmacht commanders and current officersof the Federal Republic’s Army and its Luftwaffe,were seized. Also in Bonn, the Marine Corps guardat the American embassy, on orders from the StateDepartment, arrested four attaches, including themilitary charge d’affaires, Major Norman AnthonyWashburn IV.
And so it went. Everywhere. The fever ofmadness that was Aquitaine was broken by legions ofthe very military the generals assumed would carrythem to absolute global power. By nightfall the gunswere still and people began to come out from behindtheir barricades from cellars, subways boarded-upbuildings, railroad yards, wherever sanctuary couldbe found. They wandered out on the streets,numbed, wondering what had happened, as truckswith loudspeakers roamed the cities everywheretelling the citizens that the crisis was over. In TelAviv, Rome, Paris, Bonn, London, and across theAtlantic in Toronto, New York, Washington andpoints west, the lights were turned on, but certainlythe world had not returned to normal. A terribleforce had struck in the midst of a universal cry forpeace. What was it? What had ham pened?
It would be explained on the following day,blared the sound trucks in a dozen differentlanguages, pleading for pahence on the part ofcitizens everywhere. The hour chosen was 3:00 P.M.,Greenwich Mean Time; 10:00 A.M. Washington 7:00A.M. Los Angeles. Throughout the night and themorning hours in all the hme zones, heads of stateconferred over telephones until the texts of all thestatements were essentially the same. At 10:03 A.M.the President of the United States went on the air.
“Yesterday an unprecedented wave of violenceswept through the free world taking lives, paralysinggovernments, creaking a climate of terror that verynearly cost free nations everywhere their freedomand might have led them to look for solutions whereno solutions should be sought in democraUcsocieties namely, turning ourselves into policestates handing over controls to men who wouldsubjugate free people to their collective military will.It was an organized conspiracy led by demented anddeluded men who sought power for its own sake,willing even to sacrifice their own fellow conspiratorsto achieve it, and to deceive others who were se-duced into believing it was the way of the future, theanswer to the serious ills of the world. It is not, norcan it ever be.
The Aquaintaine Progession Page 81
