Robert Ludlum - Road To Gandolfo.txt

by The Road To Gandolfo [lit]

all at once. Together. In a group."

  "Oh, we're a real sorority, Major."

  Madge, Round and Full, sat in a bean

  bag next to Sam and reached over,

  touching his arm. "Ginny told you.

  Hawkins s "

  "Yes, I understood," said Devereaux,

  swiftly interrupting. 35

  "Talk to one of us about Mac, you

  talk to all of us," added

  Lillian Narrow and Pointed from across

  the room in a particularly mellifluous

  voice.

  "That's right," cooed Anne Sloping

  yet Argumentativc~ standing

  outrageously in front of the center

  pane of glass on the swimming pool

  wall.

  "In the event we don't have a

  quorum, I act as spokeswoman," drawled

  Regina Greenberg from a jaguar-skin

  couch against the right wall. "That's

  because I was there first and have

  seniority."

  "Not necessarily years, dear," said

  Madge. "We won't let you malign

  yourself."

  "It's difficult to know ho'w to

  begin," said Sam, who nevertheless,

  plunged into the difficulty. He

  touched first gently, on the abstract

  hardships of dealing with a highly

  individualistic personality. He

  slowly, gently explained that

  MacKenzie Hawkins had involved his

  government in a most delicate

  situation for which a solution had to

  be found. And although said government

  was filled with undeniable and undying

  gratitude for General Hawkins's

  extraordinary contributions, it was

  often necessary to study a man's

  background to help him and his

  government resolve delicate

  situations. Frequently the partially

  negative led to the positive, if only

  to balance and accentuate the

  affirmative.

  "So you want to screw him," recapped

  Regina Greenberg. "It had to happen,

  didn't it, girls?"

  There was a chorus of yesses and

  uh-huhs.

  Sam knew better than to offer a flat

  denial, there was more intelligence or

  perception in that room than might

  have been evident at first. "Why do

  you say that?" he asked Ginny.

  "Gawd Mayjorl" replied Titanic.

  "Mac's been on a collision course with

  the high-brass pricky-shits for yearsl

  He sees through their manure piles.

  That's why they like it when those

  Northern liberals make him out a joke.

  But Mac's no joker"

  "Nobody thinks he's funny right now,

  Mrs. Greenberg. Let me assure you."

  "What's Mac done?" The question was

  put defensively by Anne, still

  silhouetted splendidly at the window.

  36

  l

  "He defaced " Sam stopped; bad

  choice of word. "He destroyed a

  national monument belonging to a gov-

  ernment we're trying to maintain a

  detente with. Like our Lincoln

  Memorial.

  "Vas he drunk?" asked Lillian, eyes

  and narrow frontage leveled at Sam;

  two sets of sharp artillery.

  "He says he wasn't."

  "Then- he wasn't," stated Madge

  positively from the bean bag beside

  him.

  "Mac can drink a whole battalion

  under a mess hall slop shoot." Gimpy

  Greenberg's drawl was punctuated by

  her affirmatively nodding head. "But

  he never, never plays the whiskey game

  to the disadvantage of that uniform."

  "He wouldn't put it into words,

  Major," said Lillian, "but it was a

  stronger rule than any oath he ever

  took."

  "For two reasons," added Ginny. "He

  surely didn't want to disgrace his

  rank, but just as important, he didn't

  like for the pricky~shits to laugh at

  him because of booze."

  "So you see," stated Madge in the

  bean bag, "Mac didn't do what they

  said he did to the Lincoln Memorial.

  He just wouldn't."

  Sam looked back and forth at the

  girls. Not one of these ex-Mrs.

  Hawkinses was going to help him; none

  would utter a negative word about the

  man.

  WhyP

  He struggHed like hell to get out of

  the bean bag and tried to assume the

  stance of a cross-examining attorney.

  A very soft, gentle attorney. He paced

  slowly in front of the massive window.

  Anne went to the bean bag.

  "Naturally," he began, smiling,

  "these circumstances, this group here,

  evoke several questions. Not that

  you're under any obligation to answer,

  but frankly, speaking personally, I

  don't understand. Let me explain "

  "Let me answer," interrupted Regina.

  "You can't figure out why Hawkins's

  Harem protects its namesake. Right?"

  "Right.

  "As spokeswoman," continued Ginny,

  receiving nods of assent from the

  others, "I'll be brief and to the

  point. Mac Hawkins is one great guy in

  bed and out, and don't snicker at the

  bed because most marriages haven't got

  it. 37

  You can't live with the son of a

  bitch, but that's not his fault.

  "Mac gave us something we'll never

  forget because it's with us every day.

  He taught us to break our molds.

  Sounds simple, doesn't it?'Break your

  mold.' But, lover, it sets you free.

  'You're your own goddamned inventory,'

  he used to say. 'There's nothing you

  have to do and nothing you can't do;

  use your inventory and work like

  hell.'

  "Now, I don't think that all of us

  believe that's holy writ. But by gawd,

  he made each one of us try a lot

  harder. He set us free before it was

  chic and we haven't done badly.

  So,~you see, there's not one of us if

  Mac came knocking at the door who

  wouldn't accommodate him. You dig?"

  "I dig," replied Sam quietly.

  The telephone rang. Regina reached

  behind the couch to the French phone

  on the marble table. She turned to

  Sam. "It's for you."

  Sam looked a bit startled. "I left

  your number with the hotel but I

  didn't expect. . ." He walked to the

  table and took the phone.

  "He what?l" Blood drained from Sam's

  face. He listened again. Jesus! He

  didn'tI" And then in the weariness of

  aftershock: "Yes, sir. I can see he

  most certainly did.... I'll go back to

  the hotel and await instructions.

  Unless you'd rather turn this over to

  someone else; my tour is up in a

  month, sir. I see. Five days at the

  outside, sir."

  He hung up and turned to Hawkins's

  Harem. Those four magnificent pairs of

  mammaries that both invited and defied

  description.

  'We're not going to need you,

  lad
ies. Although Mac Hawkins may."

  'I'm your only contact with

  Sixteen-hundred, Major," said the

  young lieutenant as he pace`}somewhat

  childishly, thought Sam the plush

  Beverly Hills Hotel room. "You can

  refer to me as Lodestone. No names,

  please."

  "Lieutenant Lodestone,

  Sixteen-hundred. Has a nice ring to

  it," said Devereaux, pouring himself

  another bourbon.

  "I'd go easy on the alcohol."

  "Why don't you go to China instead? Of

  me, that is." 38

  "You do have a long, long flight."

  "Not if you make it, I don't."

  "In a way, I wish I could. Do you

  realize there are seven . hundred

  million potential consumers over

  there? I'd really like to get a

  see-you shot of that market."

  "A who?"

  "Close-up look. A real peek-see."

  "Ohh. C-U. Not see-you "

  "What an opportunity!" The lieutenant

  stood by the hotel window, his hands

  clasped behind his back. Caveat consumer.

  "Then go, for Christ's sake! In

  thirty-two days I've got a permit to

  get out of this Disneyland and I don't

  want to trade my uniform in for a

  Chinese smock!"

  "I'm afraid I can't, sir.

  Sixteen-hundred needs pro-PR now. All

  the other slambangs are gone. Some are

  turning out a crackerjack house organ

  at Dannemora.... Damn!" The lieutenant

  turned from the window and walked to

  the writing desk where there were a

  half dozen photographs, five by seven.

  "It's all here, Major. All you need.

  They're a little hazy, but they show

  Brand X, all right! He certainly can't

  deny it now."

  Sam looked at the blurred but

  definable telephotos from Peking. "He

  almost reached, didn't he?"

  "DisgracefulI" The lieutenant winced

  as he studied the photographs.

  "There's nothing left to be said."

  "Except that he almost made it." Sam

  crossed to an armchair and sat down

  with his bourbon. The lieutenant

  followed him.

  "Your head IG investigator in Saigon

  will fly his reports directly to you

  in Tokyo. Take them with you to

  Peking. They've got a lot of real

  dirt." The young officer smiled his

  genuine smile. "Just in case you need

  some final stickum for the coffin."

  "Gee, you're a nice kid. Ever meet

  your father?" Sam drank a great deal

  of his bourbon.

  "You mustn't personalize it, Major.

  It's an objective operation and we

  have the input. It's all part of the "

  "Don't say again "

  ". . . game plan." Lodestone

  swallowed the words. "Sorry. And

  anyway, if you do personalize it, what

  more do you 39

  want? The man's a maniac. A dangerous,

  egotistical madman who's interfering

  violently with peaceful pursuits."

  "I'm a lawyer, Lieutenant, not an

  avenging angel. Your maniac made

  several contributions to other game

  plans. He's got a lot of people in his

  corner. I met with eight four this

  afternoon." Sam looked at his glass.

  where did the bourbon go?

  "Not any more, he doesn't," said the

  officer flatly.

  "He doesn't what?"

  "Whatever constituency he had will

  disappear."

  "Constituency? a politician?" Sam

  decided he needed another drink. He

  couldn't follow this Buster Brown any

  longer. So why not get really drunk?

  "He peed on the Stars and Stripesl

  That's a Peoria no-nor"

  "Did he really reach?"

  "We're sending you to China,"

  continued Lodestone, overlooking the

  question, "in the fastest way possible.

  Phantom jet aircraft over the northern

  route, stops in Juneau and the

  Aleutians, into Tokyo. From there a

  supply carrier to Peking. I've brought

  all the papers you need from

  Washington."

  Devereaux mumbled into his bourbon.

  "I don't like moo goo gal pan and I

  hate egg rolls...."

  "May I suggest you get some rest,

  sir? It's almost twenty-three hundred

  and we have to leave for the airbase at

  oh four hundred. You take off at dawn."

  "Wish I'd said that, Lodestone. Nice

  ring to it. Five hours. And you're down

  the hall but not in here:'

  "Sir?" The young man cocked his head.

  "I'm going to give you an order. Go

  away. I don't want to see you until you

  come to sew in my name tags."

  "What?"

  "Get the hell out of here." And then

  Sam remembered and his eyes though

  slightly glazed were laughing. "You

  know what you are, Lieutenant? You're

  a pricky-shit. A real, honest-to-God

  pricky-shit. Now I know what it means!"

  Four hours.... He wondered.

  It was worth a try. But first he needed

  another drink.

  :. He poured it and walked to the writing

  desk and 40

  laughed at the Peking telephotos. The

  son of a bitch had flair, no question

  about it. But he was not at the desk

  to look at the photographs; he opened

  the drawer and took out his notebook.

  He turned the pages and did his best

  to Ecus on his own handwriting. He

  walked to the telephone by the bed,

  dialed nine, and then the number on

  the page.

  "Hello?" The voice was magnolia-soft

  and Sam could actually smell the

  oleander blossoms.

  "Mrs. Greenberg? This is Sam Devereaux

  "

  "Well, how're you?" Regina's

  greeting was positively enthusiastic;

  there was no attempt to conceal her

  pleasure that the caller was a man.

  "We were all wondering which one you'd

  call. I'm really flattered, Mayjor! I

  mean, actually, I'm the elder

  stateswoman. I'm really touched."

  Her husband was probably out,

  thought Sam through the bourbon,

  warmed by the memory of her

  challenging, translucent shirt.

  "That's very kind of you. You see,

  in a little while I'm going to go on

  a long, long trip. Over oceans and

  mountains and. more oceans and islands

  and..." Jesus! He hadn't figured out

  how to put it; he hadn't really been

  sure he could dial her number. Goddamn

  bourbon fantasies! "Well, it's

  sheecrit~ecret. Very covert. But I'm

  going to talk to your namesake?"

  "Of cawsse, lover! And naturally,

  you didn't get half a chaynce to ask

  all those important government

  questions. I understand, I really do."

  "Well, several items came up, one in

  particular "

  "It usually does. I do believe I

  should do all I can to help the

&
nbsp; government in its delicate situation.

  You're at the Beverly Hills?"

  "Yes, ma'm. Room eight twenty."

  "Wait a sec." She put her hand over

  the receiver, but Sam could hear her

  calling out. "Manng! There's a nation-

  al emergency. I have to go to town."

  41

  1

  CHATTIER FIVE

  "Major! Major Devereauxl Your phone is

  off the hook. That s a no-no.

  An incessant, ridiculously loud

  knocking accompanied Lodestone's nasal

  screams.

  "What the gawd-almighty hell is

  that?" asked Regina Greenberg, nudging

  Sam under the covers. "It sounds like

  an unoiled piston.

  Devereaux opened his eyes into the

  visual abyss of a hangover. "That,

  dear patron saint of Tarzana, is the

  voice of the evil people. They surface

  when the earth churns."

  "Do you know what time it is? Call

  the hotel police, for heaven's sake."

  "No," said Sam, reluctantly getting

  out of bed. "Because if I do, that

  gentleman will call the joint chiefs

  of staff. I think they're scared to

  death of him. They're merely

  professional killers; he's in

  advertising."

  And before Devereaux could really

  focus, hands had dressed him, cars had

  driven him, men had yelled at him, and

  he was strapped into an Air Force

  Phantom jet.

  They all smiled. Everyone in China

  smiled. With their lips more than