“Was ist los, Opa?” asked the driver.
“I’m afraid I don’t speak German. Can you speak any English?”
“I speak some English,” said the boy in back, slurring his words. “Better than these two! All they want to do is get to our place and make love. See! I do speak English?”
“You certainly do, and very well, indeed. Would you explain to them, please? Frankly, I’ve had a fight with my wife at a party down there—you know, at those cottages—and I want to get back to Bonn. I’ll pay you, of course.”
“Ein Streit mit seiner Frau! Er will nach Bonn. Er wird uns bezahlen.”
“Warum nicht? Sie hat mich heute sowieso schon zu viel gekostet,” said the driver.
“Nicht fuer was du kriegst, du Drecksack!” cried the girl, laughing.
“Get in, mein Herr! We are your chauffeurs. Just pray he stays on the road, ja! What hotel are you staying at?”
“Actually, I’d rather not go back there. I’m really very angry. I’d like to teach her a lesson by staying away tonight. Do you think you could find me a room? I’ll pay you even more, of course. Frankly, I’ve been drinking a bit myself.”
“Ein betrunkener Tourist! Er will ein Hotel. Fahren wir ihn ins Rosencafé?”
“Dort sind mehr Nutten als der alte knacker schafft.”
“We are your guides, Amerikaner,” said the young man beside Converse. “We are students from the university who will not only find you a room, but with excellent prospects of getting back at your wife with some pleasure! There’s also a café. You’ll buy us a lager or six, ja?”
“All you want. But I’d also luce to make a telephone call. To the United States—it’s business. Will I be able to?”
“Most everyone in Bonn speaks English. If they don’t at this Rosencafé, I, myself, will take care of it. Six lagers, though, remember that!”
“Twelve, if you like.”
“Da wird es im Pissoir eine Überschwemmung geben!”
He knew the rate of exchange, and once inside the raucous café—actually a run-down bar favored by the university crowd—he counted the money he had taken from the two Germans. It was roughly five hundred dollars, over three from the man on the hill. The seedy clerk at the registration desk explained in convoluted English that, indeed, the switchboard could place a call to America, but it might take several minutes. Joel left fifty dollars in deutsche marks for his youthful Good Samaritans, excused himself and headed for his room—such as it was. An hour later the call came through.
“Larry?”
“Joel?”
“Thank God you’re there!” cried Converse in relief. “You’ll never know how I kept hoping you weren’t out of town. Getting a call through from here is a bitch!”
“I’m here,” said Talbot, his voice suddenly calm and in control. “Where are you, Joel?” he asked quietly.
“Some poor excuse for a hotel in Bonn. I just got here. I didn’t get the name.”
“You’re in a hotel in Bonn but you don’t know which one?”
“It doesn’t matter, Larry! Get Simon on the line. I want to talk to you both. Quickly.”
“Nathan’s in court. He should be back here by four o’clock—our time. That’s about an hour from now.”
“Goddamn it!”
“Take it easy, Joel. Don’t upset yourself.”
“Don’t upset …? For Christ’s sake, I’ve been locked up in a stone cabin with bars in the windows for five days! I broke out a couple of hours ago, and ran like hell through the woods with a pack of dogs and lunatics carrying guns chasing me. I spent an hour in the water damn near drowning before I could reach land without getting my head shot off, and then I had to—I had to—”
“You had to what, Joel?” asked Talbot, a strange passivity in his voice. “What did you have to do?”
“Goddamn it, Larry, I may have killed a man to get out of there!”
“You had to kill someone, Joel? Why did you think you had to do that?”
“He was waiting for me! They were searching for me! On the land, in the woods along the riverbanks—he was a scout separated from his patrol. Scouts, patrols! I had to get out, get away! And you tell me not to be upset!”
“Calm down, Joel, try to get hold of yourself.… You escaped before, didn’t you? A long time ago—”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Converse broke in.
“You had to kill people then, didn’t you? Those memories must always be with you.”
“Larry, that’s bullshit! Listen to me and take down everything I say—the names I give you, the facts—get it all down.”
“Perhaps I should bring Janet on the line. Her shorthand—”
“No! Only you, no one else! They can trace people, anyone who knows anything. It’s not that complicated. Are you ready?”
“Of course.”
Joel sat down on the narrow bed and took a deep breath. “The best way to put it—as it was put to me, but you don’t have to write this down, just understand—is that they’ve come back.”
“Who?”
“The generals—field marshals, admirals, colonels—allies and enemies, all field and fleet commanders and above. They’ve come together from everywhere to change things, change governments and laws and foreign policies, everything to be based on military priorities and decisions. It’s crazy, but they could do it. We’d live out their fantasies because they’d be in control, believing they’re right and selfless and dedicated—as they’ve always believed.”
“Who are these people, Joel?”
“Yes, write this down. The organization is called Aquitaine. It’s based on a historical theory that the region in France once known as Aquitaine might have become all of Europe and by extension—as colonies—the North American continent as well.”
“Whose theory?”
“It doesn’t matter, it’s just a theory. The organization was conceived by General George Delavane—he was known as Mad Marcus in Vietnam—and I saw only a fraction of the damage that son of a bitch did! He’s pulled in military personnel from all over the place, all commanders, and they’re fanning out recruiting their own kind, fanatics who believe as they do, that theirs is the only way. For the past year or so, they’ve been shipping illegal weapons and armaments to terrorist groups, encouraging destabilization wherever they can, the ultimate purpose being that they’ll be called in to restore order, and when they do, they’ll take over.… Five days ago I met with Delavane’s key men from France and Germany, Israel and South Africa—and, I think, possibly England.”
“You met with these people, Joel? Did they invite you to a meeting?”
“They thought I was one of them, that I believed in everything they stood for. You see, Larry, they didn’t know how much I hated them. They hadn’t been where I’d been, hadn’t seen what I saw—as you said, years ago.”
“When you had to escape,” added Talbot sympathetically. “When you had to kill people—times you’ll never forget. They must have been terrible for you.”
“Yes, they were. Goddamn it, yes! Sorry, let’s stay on course. I’m so tired—still frightened, too, I think.”
“Relax, Joel.”
“Sure. Where was I?” Converse rubbed his eyes. “Oh, yes, I remember. They got information on me, information from my service record, my status as a POW, which wasn’t actually part of the record, but they got it and they found out what and who I was. They heard the words that told them how much I hated them, hated what Delavane had done, what they all had done. They drugged me, got whatever they could and threw me into a Godforsaken stone house set in the middle of the woods above the Rhine. While under the chemicals I must have told them everything I knew—”
“Chemicals?” asked Talbot, obviously never having heard the term.
“Amytols, Pentothals, scopolamine. I’ve been the route, Larry. I’ve been there and back.”
“You have? Where?”
“In the camps. It’s immaterial.”
&nbs
p; “I’m not sure it is.”
“It is! The point is they found out what I know. That means they’ll move up their schedule.”
“Schedule?”
“We’re in the countdown. Now! Two weeks, three weeks, four at the outside! No one knows how or where or what the targets are, but there’ll be eruptions of violence and terrorism all over the place, giving them the excuse to move in and take over. ‘Accumulation,’ ‘rapid acceleration,’ those were the words they used! Right now in Northern Ireland—everything’s blown apart, nothing but chaos—whole armored divisions are moving in. They did it, Larry! It’s a test, a trial run for them! I’m going to give you the names.” Converse did so, both surprised and annoyed that Talbot did not react to any of the men of Aquitaine. “Have you got them?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Those are the salient facts and the names I can vouch for. There’s a lot more—people in the State Department and the Pentagon, but the lists are in my briefcase and it’s been stolen, or hidden somewhere. I’ll get some rest and start writing out everything I know, then call you in the morning. I have to get out of here. I’m going to need help.”
“I agree, so may I talk now?” said the lawyer in New York in that odd flat voice. “First, where are you, Joel? Look on the phone or read the print on an ashtray—or check the desk; there must be stationery.”
“There’s no desk and the ashtrays are chipped glass.… Wait a minute, I picked up some matches from the bar when I bought cigarettes.” Converse reached into the pocket of the leather jacket and pulled out the book of matches. “Here it is. ‘Riesendrinks.’ ”
“Look below that. My German is limited, but I think it means ‘big drinks’ or something.”
“Oh? Then it must be this. ‘Rosencafé.’ ”
“That sounds more like it. Spell it for me, Joel.”
Converse did, an undefined feeling disturbing him. “Have you got it?” he asked. “Here’s a telephone number.” Joel read off the numbers printed on the cover.
“Good, that’s splendid,” said Talbot. “But before you get off the line—and I know you need rest badly—I have a couple of questions.”
“I would hope to hell you do!”
“When we spoke after that man was hurt in Paris, after that fight you saw in the alley, you told me you were in Amsterdam. You said you were going to fly back to Paris and see René, straighten everything out. Why didn’t you, Joel?”
“For God’s sake, Larry, I just told you what I’ve been through! It took every minute I had to set things up. I was going after these people—this goddamned Aquitaine—and it could only be done one way. I had to work myself in, I couldn’t waste time!”
“That man died. Did you have anything to do with his death?”
“Christ, yes, I killed him! He tried to stop me, they all tried to stop me! They found me in Copenhagen and had me followed. They were waiting for me at the airport here. It was a trap!”
“To stop you from reaching these men, these generals and field marshals?”
“Yes!”
“Yet you just told me these same men invited you to meet with them.”
“I’ll spell it all out for you in the morning,” said Converse wearily, the tension of the last hours—days—culminating in exhaustion and a wracking headache. “By then I’ll have everything down on paper, but you may have to come over here to get it—and me. The main thing is we’re in touch. You’ve got the names, the overview, and you know where I am. Talk with Nathan, think about everything I’ve said and the three of us will figure out what to do. We have contacts in Washington, but we’ll have to be careful. We don’t know who’s with whom. But there’s a plus here. Some of the material I have—I had—could only have come from people down there. One view is that I was set in motion by them, that men I don’t know are watching every move I make because I’m doing what they can’t do.”
“By yourself,” said Talbot, agreeing. “Without Washington’s help. Without their help.”
“That’s right. They can’t show themselves; they have to stay in the background until I bring out something concrete. That was the plan. When you and Nathan talk, if you have questions call me. I’m just going to lie down for an hour or so anyway.”
“I’ve got another question now, if you don’t mind. You know Interpol has an international warrant for you.”
“I do.”
“And the American embassy is looking for you.”
“I know that, too.”
“I was told that word reached you to come into the embassy.”
“You were told?”
“Why haven’t you done it, Joel?”
“Jesus, I can’t! Don’t you think I would if I could? The place is crawling with Delavane’s people. Well, that’s an exaggeration, but I know of three. I saw them.”
“It’s my understanding that Ambassador Peregrine himself got word to you, guaranteeing you protection, confidentiality. Wasn’t that enough?”
“Your understanding…” The answer is no! Peregrine hasn’t any idea what he’s got inside that place. Or maybe he does. I saw Leifhelm’s car go through those gates like he had a lifetime pass. At three o’clock in the morning. Leifhelm’s a Nazi, Larry, he’s never been anything else! So what does that make Peregrine?”
“Come on, Joel. You’re maligning a man by implication who doesn’t deserve it. Walter Peregrine was one of the heroes of Bastogne. His command at the Battle of the Bulge is a legend of the war. And he was a reserve officer, not part of the regular Army. I doubt that Nazis are his favorite guests.”
“His command? Another commander? Then maybe he knows exactly what he’s got in that embassy!”
“That’s not fair. His outspoken criticisms of the Pentagon are a documented part of his postwar career. He’s called them megalomaniacs with too damn much money feeding their egos at the taxpayers’ expense. No, you’re not being fair, Joel. I think you should listen to him. Call him on the phone, talk to him.”
“Not being fair?” said Converse softly, the undefined feeling coming into focus, now a warning. “Wait a minute! You’re the one who’s not being fair. ‘I was told’ … ‘It’s my understanding?’ What oracle have you been in touch with? Who’s imparting these pearls of wisdom about me? On what basis and where from?”
“All right, Joel, all right, calm down. Yes, I have talked to people—people who want to help you. A man is dead in Paris, and now you say there’s another in Bonn. You talk of scouts and patrols and those horrible chemicals, and how you ran through the woods and had to hide in the river. Don’t you understand, son? Nobody’s blaming you or even holding you responsible. Something happened; you’re living it all over again.”
“My God!” broke in Converse, stunned. “You don’t believe a word I’ve said!”
“You believe it, and that’s all that matters. I saw my share in North Africa and Italy, but nothing to compare with what you went through later. You have a deep, understandable hatred for war and all things military. You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t, not with the suffering you experienced and the terrible things you endured.”
“Larry, everything I’ve told you is true!”
“Fine, splendid. Then reach Peregrine, go to the embassy and tell them. They’ll listen to you. He’ll listen.”
“Are you denser than I think?” shouted Joel. “I just told you, I can’t! I’d never get to see Peregrine! I’d get my head blown away!”
“I spoke to your wife—sorry, your ex-wife. She said you’d have these moments at night.…”
“You spoke to Val? You brought her into this! Christ, are you out of your mind? Don’t you know they trace everyone down? It was right under your nose, counselor! Lucas Anstett! Stay away from her! Stay away or I’ll—I’ll—”
“You’ll what, son?” asked Talbot quietly. “Kill me, too?”
“Oh, Jesus!”
“Do as I say, Joel. Call Peregrine. Everything will be all right.”
Suddenly
Converse heard an odd sound over the line, odd in context but one he had heard hundreds of times before. It was a short buzz, barely significant but there was significance to it. It was Lawrence Talbot’s courteous signal to his secretary to come into his office and pick up a revised letter or a corrected brief or a dictation tape. Joel knew what it was now. The address of a seedy hotel in Bonn.
“All right, Larry,” he said, feigning an exhaustion that was all too real. “I’m so damned tired. Let me lie down for a while and maybe I will call the embassy. Maybe I should get in touch with Peregrine. Everything’s so confused.”
“That’s the way, son. Everything’s going to be fine now. Just splendid.”
“Good-bye, Larry.”
“Good-bye for now, Joel. See you in a couple of days.”
Converse slammed down the phone and looked around the dimly lit room. What was he checking for? He had come with nothing and he would leave with nothing but what was on his back—what he had stolen. And he had to leave quickly. He had to run. In minutes men would be speeding in cars from the embassy, and at least one of those men would have a gun and a bullet meant for him!
What in hell was happening to him? The truth was a fantasy bolstered by lies, and the lies were his only means of survival. Insanity!
19
He ran past the elevator to the staircase, descending the steps two and three at a time, his hand on the iron railing as he lurched around the landings, and reached the lobby door four stories below. He swung it open, suddenly gripping the edge and slowing his pace so as not to call attention to himself. He need not have been concerned. The small band of people milling about in front of the benches against the wall and wandering around the warm tile floor were the neighborhood elderly, looking for nightly companionship, and a few drunks walking in and out of the neon-lit door to the noisy café. Oh, Christ! His mind was in a frenzy. He could walk around in the night, hiding in alleys, but a lone man in unfamiliar streets was too easily spotted by unofficial hunters or by the official police. He had to get inside somewhere, somehow. Out of sight.
The café! His Samaritans! He pulled up the collar of the leather jacket and forced the belt of the trousers lower, inching down the gap around his ankles. He then approached the door casually, feigning a slight stagger as he pushed it open. He was greeted by floating levels of smoke—not all of it tobacco, by any means—and adjusted his stinging eyes to the erratically flashing lights as he tried to block out the offending noise, a combination of guttural roars and disco music blaring from high-tech speakers. His Good Samaritans were gone: he looked for the young blond girl as his focal point, but she was not there. The table they had occupied was taken by another foursome—no, not four different people, only three, who had joined the English-speaking student who had sat beside him in the car. The three were young men who seemed also to be students. Joel approached them, and passing an empty chair in his path, he gripped the back and unobtrusively pulled it behind him to the table. He sat down and smiled at the blond-haired student.
The Aquitaine Progression Page 41
