Robert Ludlum - Road To Gandolfo.txt

by The Road To Gandolfo [lit]

  He said, when the mortars are falling

  all around you and things look

  terrible,

  and, believe me, there were times when

  the world looked pretty terrible to

  me he said, think of the good things

  you've done, the accomplishments, the

  contributions. Don't ponder your

  mistakes or your sorrows; that only

  puts you in a depressed state of mind.

  And a depressed state of mind is not

  equipped to take advantage of that one

  moment that could arise and save- your

  ass. It's all a question of mental

  attitudes."

  "What the hell has that bullshit got

  to do with the fact that I don't have

  any clothes?"

  "Not an awful lot, I guess. It's

  just that you sounded so depressed.

  That's no way to face the Hawk."

  Devereaux started to answer blindly,

  angrily. Then he stopped, looked at

  the sincerity in Ginny's eyes and

  began again. "Wait a minute. 'Face the

  Hawk.' You mean you want me to fight

  him? Stop him?"

  "That's your decision, Sam. I only

  want what's best for everyone.

  "Will you help me?"

  Ginny was pensive for a moment, then

  replied firmly. "No, I won't do that.

  Not in the way you're thinking. I owe

  MacKenzie too much.'

  212

  1 ''-l

  "Lady!" burst out Devereaux. "Do you

  have any idea what that lunatic is up

  to?"

  Mrs. Hawkins number one looked at

  him with an expression of suddenly

  imposed innocence. "A lieutenant

  doesn't question a general officer,

  Major. He can't be expected to

  understand the intricacies of command

  "

  "Then what the hell are we talking

  about?"

  "You're a smart fellow. The Hawk

  wouldn't have promoted you if you

  werent. I just want him to have the

  finest advice he can get. So he can do

  whatever it is he wants to do the best

  way possible." Ginny rolled over under

  the eiderdown quilt. "I'm really very

  sleepy."

  And Devereaux saw them on the

  bedside table next to her head.

  A pair of scissors.

  ala

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  "Sorry about the clothes," said the

  Hawk in the huge drawing room. Sam

  glared and retied the curtain sash he

  used as a belt around the eiderdown

  quilt. "You'd think the laundry would

  have more than one key, wouldn't you?

  These big fancy places don't trust

  anyone; shows the kind of house guests

  they must be used to, I suppose."

  "Oh, shut- up,t' mumbled Devereaux,

  who found it necessary to double-loop

  the sash because the silk kept

  slipping. "The laundress will be here

  in the morning, I presume."

  "I'm sure of it. She's one of the

  few who go home at night. To the

  village. That'll change, of course;

  there'll be a lot of changes."

  "Just tell me there'll be one change

  and I'll go back and have dinner with

  Azaz-Varak."

  "Come on now, Sam, you've.got a

  one-track mind. Let's get on to other

  things. You sure you don't want a

  shirt and a pair of trousers? just

  take me a minute to go upstairs...."

  Hawkins made a gesture past a dozen or

  so overstuffed, antimacassared

  armchairs toward the great hall.

  "Nol I don't want anything from

  you! I take that back. I do want

  something. I want you to call off this

  crazy business and let me go home!"

  MacKenzie bit off the chewed end of

  his cigar, spitting it between the

  feet of a suit of armor. "You uphill

  go home, I promise you that. The

  minute you centralize the company

  finances and make a few deposits that

  can be tapped under certain

  conditions, I'll drive you to the

  airport myself. That's the word of a

  general officer."

  214

  of'

  "It's the reasoning of a brain

  soaked in linseed oil! Do you have any

  idea what you're asking me to do?

  That's not chopped liver you're

  talking about, it's forty million dol-

  lars. I'm marked for life! They'll

  have a record sheet on me in every

  Interpol headquarters and police

  station in the civilized worldl You

  don't put your name on forty million

  dollars' worth of bank transfers and

  expect to go back to a normal law

  practice. Word gets out."

  "That's not so, and you know it. All

  that Swiss banking stuff is

  confidential."

  Devereaux looked around to make sure

  no one else was within hearing. "Even

  if it's supposed to be, it's not going

  to be once a . . . certain attempt is

  made to snatch a. . . certain person

  in Rome! And that's all it will be! An

  attempt! You'll have your ass in a

  net, and every contact you've made

  since China will be put under a

  microscope and my name will surface

  and so will forty Sucking million

  dollars in Zurich and that's the

  baligame!"

  "Now, goddamn, boy, we've been over

  that! Your job's finished now. Or will

  be soon's you take care of the money.

  You don't have to be involved anymore.

  And you're clean, son. You're a

  hundred percent Clorox!"

  "I'm not." Devereaux choked as he

  whispered and clutched the eiderdown

  quilt. "I just told you: The minute

  you're nailed, I'm nailed!"

  "For what? Say you happened to be

  right which I don't for a second

  consider remotely possible what can

  they nail you for? Banking funds for

  an old soldier who told you he was

  raising money to support an

  organization dedicated to spreading

  religious brotherhood? Let me ask you

  a question, Mr. Attorney. Could you,

  under oath, testify to any

  wrongdoing?"

  "You're insane!" broke in Sam,

  stumbling slightly as he stepped

  forward. "You told me! You're going to

  kidnap " Devereaux stopped and made

  charade-like gestures that included

  hauling a body over his shoulder and

  the sign of the cross.

  "Well, hell, boy, there are oaths

  and there are oaths! Be reasonable.

  Anyway, that's hearsay. Not

  admissible."

  Sam closed his eyes; he began to

  understand what 215

  martyrdom was all about. He continued,

  his whisper strained but controlled.

  "I walked out of those archives with

  that Sucking briefcase chained to my

  wristl"

  - "Outside of that," mumbled

  MacKenzie. "Anyhow, that's army stuff;

  neither of us has much use for the


  army. Anything else?"

  Devereaux thought.

  "Circumstantially, it's the mother-

  loving end. There hasn't been a single

  aboveboard transaction."

  "That's subjective," said Hawkins,

  shaking his head, confirming his own

  judgment. "There's been no violence;

  no one's lied. No theft, no collusion.

  Everything voluntary. And if the

  particular methods seem unusual,

  that's the prerogative of every

  individual investor, as long as he

  doesn't infringe on the rights of

  others." Mac paused and held Sam's

  eyes. 'There's something else, too.

  You said yourself that a lawyer's

  first responsibility was to his client

  not abstract moral dilemmas."

  "I said that?"

  "You surely did."

  "That's not bad "

  "It's goddamned eloquent, that's

  what it is. You've got a silver tongue

  in your head, young man."

  Sam stared back at the Hawk, trying

  to see beneath his guile. But it

  wasn't guile; he meant what he said.

  And since personal sincerity was the

  momentary leveler, Devereaux decided

  to be personally sincere.

  "Listen to me," he said quietly.

  "Say you go through with this this

  insanity, because that's what it is,

  you know. Say you really do it. You

  actually kidnap the pope and get away

  with it. Even for a few days. Do you

  know what might happen? What you could

  trigger?"

  "Surely do. Four hundred million

  green samolians from four hundred

  million howling mackerel snappers. No

  offense intended, just a harmless

  phrase."

  "No, you gung-ho son of a bitch!

  There'd be international revulsion!

  And recrimination. And then mainly ac-

  cusations! Governments would point

  their fingers at other governments!

  Presidents and chairmen and prime

  ministers would use blue lines and red

  lines and then very hot lines. And

  before you know it, some asshole

  recites a code 816 i

  from a tiny black box in a briefcase

  because he didn't like what some other

  asshole said. Jesus, Mact You could

  start World War Three!"

  "Goddamn! Is that what you've been

  thinking about?"

  "It's what I've tried not to think

  about."

  Hawkins threw his cigar into the

  cavern that was the Machenfeld

  fireplace and stood arms akimbo, a

  flame dying in his eyes. "Sam, boy,

  you couldn't be farther from the

  truth. You know, son, war isn't what

  it used to be. Hasn't any spirit to it

  anymore. Bugles and drums, and men

  caring for men, and hating an enemy

  because he can hurt the things yop

  love. That's all gone now. Now it's

  buttons and shifty-eyed politicians

  who blink a lot and wave their hands

  without meaning very much. I hate war.

  I never thought I'd hear myself say

  it, but I'm saying it and learning it

  now. I'd never allow a war."

  Devereaux bored into the Hawk's eyes

  he would not let MacKenzie look away.

  "Why should I believe that? Everything

  you've done reeks of con. Immense con.

  Why should a war stop you?"

  "Because, young man," replied

  Hawkins quietly, returning Sam's stare

  in full measure., "I just told you the

  truth."

  "All right. Suppose you provoke one

  without meaning to?

  "Goddard! Now you're pushing me too

  far!" MacKenzie strode from the

  fireplace to a second suit of armor to

  the right of the mantel. The face

  piece was open so he slammed it

  shut-"I put in damned near forty years

  and got Sucked by the plastic merit

  Your Words, boy! Now, I don't feel

  sorry for myself because I knew what

  I was doing and was accountable for my

  actions! But, goddamn, don't,ask me to

  feel sorry for them or be accountable

  for their stupidity!"

  So much for personal sincerity,

  thought Devereaux. Like Options One,

  Two, Three, and Four in the morning,

  it was shot to hell. This time in a

  burst of self-righteousness. There was

  nothing for it but to find another

  way. One would present itself, Sam was

  convinced of that. The Hawk had a way

  to go before the pontiff of the

  Catholic Church blessed the edelweiss

  at Machenfeld. Something would turn

  up; and Option Seven Options Five and

  Six 217

  ,

  1

  happily avoided was coming into focus.

  For the moment he had to calm

  MacKenzie down and under no circum-

  stances lose his confidence. And then

  Mac did have a point. A legal point.

  He, Sam, was clean. Legally clean.

  In every other way the mud was an inch

  thick, but in evidentiary considera-

  tions, he was not a good case for any

  prosecutor.

  "Okay, Mac, I'm not going to fight

  you. You were screwed and I did say

  it, and I believe you. You hate war.

  Maybe that's good enough. I don't know

  anymore. Personally, I just want to go

  back home to Quincy, and if I read

  about you in the papers, I'll remember

  the words of a scarred but honest

  warrior spoken in this room."

  "A tongue of silver, boy! I admire

  that."

  "As long as it's not a head of lead,

  I'll accept that. Do you have the

  papers for the Zurich bank?"

  "Don't you want to hear the amount

  I've. . . accrued for your

  participation? How do you like that

  'accrued'? I'm a corporate president,

  you know;'we don't fuck around with

  second-rate vocabularies."

  "I'm impressed. What's the entry

  figure?"

  "The what?"

  "The accrual, that's the noun root

  of the verb 'to accrue.' "

  "Smartass shavetail. What do you say

  to a half a million dollars?"

  Sam could not say anything. He was

  numb. He saw his hand move in

  astonishment, and he watched it with

  a certain fascination, not sure if the

  appendage belonged to him. It must

  have; when he thought about jiggling

  the fingers, they jiggled.

  A half a million dollars.

  What was there to think about? It

  was as insane as everything else.

  Including the fact that he was not

  indictable.

  It was Monopoly time. Let's buy

  Boardwalk and Park Place.

  Stop. Co To Jail.

  Why worry?

  It didn't do any good anyway.

  "That's reasonable severance pay," Sam

  said. ale

  "That's all you've got to says With

  what I banked t'or you in New- York,

  yo
u can hire that Jewish fella and

  he'll be happy to take the job."

  MacKenzie was the injured party. He

  obviously expected Devereaux to

  practice a little bit of his

  well-advertised overreaction.

  "Let's say I'll erupt with

  enthusiasm when I'm looking at those

  figures in a bank book in Boston with

  my mother sitting across the room

  complaining about the new management

  at the Copley Plaza. Okay'?"

  "Do you know something?" said

  Hawkins, his eyes squinting. "You're

  kind of weird."

  "I'm. kind of. . ." Devereaux did not

  finish the sentence. There was no

  point.

  There was the abrupt, episodic

  clicking of high heels. Regina

  Greenberg walked through the cathedral

  arch into the drawing room. She was

  dressed in a beige pants suit, the

  rather severe jacket buttoned over

  Titanics. She looked, well, rather

  efficient, thought Sam. She smiled

  briefly and addressed Hawkins.

  "I've met with the staff. Five will

  stay. Three couldn't; they'd have to

  live in the village and I explained

  that wasn't acceptable."

  "I hope they weren't hurt."

  Ginny laughed confidently "Hardly. I

  spoke to each individually, and gave

  all three two months' wages."

  "The rest understand the

  conditions?" MacKenzie reached into

  his pocket for a fresh cigar.

  "And their bonuses," said Ginny.

  "Minimum three months. All with

  families to explain that they've been

  hired for resident staff work in

  France for the duration. No questions

  are to be asked."