it. It pains me to have caused it. As
that great Roman, Marcus Aurelius,
observed: We must all do what we have
to do, at the moment fate demands that
we do it. But as the Indian prophet,
Baga Nishyad, also observed: Buckets
filled with tears can be spread over
grain and the rice will grow like
jewels. I do not have jewels,
gentlemen, but I do have riches for
each of you. Deserved rewards. Sums of
money that will lessen your pain, and
send you back to the lands of your
choice, to live in freedom, freedom
from fear, from oblivion. And from
want. Here. I pass among you these
small index cards. Each is a passport
to your personal nirvanas. Let me
explain."
And Sam did.
And the seven subordinate officers
studied the cards, glancing at one
another as they did so.
"Do you speak French?" asked one of
the Frenchmen.
Devereaux laughed a touch too gaily
he felt. "Not really."
"Thank you," said the Frenchman,
turning to the others. "Vous parley loos
fran~aisi"
To a man they nodded affirmatively.
So they all began speaking French.
Quietly. Rapidly. Until seven heads
nodded once again affirmatively. Sam
was touched; he knew they were trying
to find a way to thank him.
Which was why he was bewildered when
two of the men suddenly approached and
grabbed him, spun him around, and
began wrapping his wrists in wire.
1 ~
"What the hell are you doing?" he
yelled. "What are you doing to my
hands? And what the hell is that?"
He gestured his head at the red
kerchief the Greek had whipped from
his neck and was now twirling.
- 'And what the hell are they?!"
He referred to a number of metallic
cracks that sounded strangely like
weapons being inspected.
"We have that compassion you spoke
of, monsieur," said the Frenchman. "We
offer a man the choice of a blindfold
before we execute him."
"What!?"
"Be brave, signore," said the
Italian. "We all know this business.
We accept the odds or we do not play."
"Ya," added the Viking. "It is a
game. Some yin. Some lose. You lost."
"Whaaat?!"
'wake him dawn to the patio," said
the second Frenchman. "We'll tell the
staff it's target practice."
"Mac! Maac! Maaac!" He was led down
the hallway. Several pairs of hands
clapped themselves over his mouth he
bit them. "For Christ's sake! Hawkins'
Where the fuck
a,.. .
are your!
Again the hands clamped over his
face. The cordon marched with
precision down the hallway toward the
magnificent winding staircase.
Devereaux again forced his mouth open
and bit furiously at the flesh around
his teeth; hands and arms whipped back
momentarily. It was enough for Sam to
kick out behind him and for an instant
free himself.
He raced and plunged bodily down the
curving steps, tumbling over and over
as he fell.
"Hawkins! You son of a hitch, get
out here! These maniacs want to shoot
me!"
He bounced over the treads, careened
against the wall and plummeted
shoulders over backside down into the
last straightaway. His shouts were
progressively blurred, but the overall
meaning was unmistakable.
"Shit-kickers! Blindfolds ouch!
Pistols! Goddamn you oh ohh .
Hawkins! Uhu! Jesus my head!"
He reached the bottom of the staircase,
a disheveled 234
heap. The Hawk strode through the
cathedral arch from the drawing room,
a cigar clenched between his teeth,
several folded maps in his hand. He
looked at Sam on the Roorand then up
at the band of subordinate officers..
'Coddamn, boy! This changes
everything!"
Once again his clothes were taken.
Only now there weren't even any
dresses in the closet. His meals were
brought up by Rudolph.
The Hawk explained that it had taken
a command counterdecision to save his
life; and the troops did not like it
one bit.
"For a fact, I nearly had a mutiny
on my hands before the brigade set its
colors," Hawkins had told him the next
morning.
"Set its what? Never mind, don't tell
me."
"I mean it, son. I had to take stern
measures and let them know right off
that in matters of extreme prejudice,
no authority regardless of
consensus exceeded that of a field
general. It was touch and go for a
while, but I've handled the roughest
in my day. Those pups, good as they
are, Weren't any match. It's in the
eves, boy. Always the eyes.
"I don't understand," Devereaux had
moaned sincerely. "I spelled
everything out beautifully. I
unraveled the whole ball of wax. The
background, the motive. Jesusl Even
the money! I had them!"
"You had nothing," the Hawk replied
concisely. "You made two big mistakes.
To begin with, you assumed that such
a group of men, such a fine contingent
of officers, would accept money
surreptitiously, without earning it
"Get off it!" Devereaux had roared
his interruption. "You can't sell that
honor-among-thieves bullshit because
I won't buy it!"
"I think you're misjudging, boy, but
if that's the way you see it, there's
your second mistake to consider."
"What mistake?"
"One of the oldest traps in Interpol
is to set up a hot bank account and
send someone after it. I'm surprised
you didn't know that. You set up seven
all at once."
235
.~.
l
Sam had retreated under the
eiderdown quilt and pulled it over his
head. Unfortunately, he could not
block out MacKenzie's words.
"You know, Sam, life is a series of
compartments, some related to each
other, most separate. But every once
in a while these parallel
compartments, as I call them, have to
acknowledge one another's existence.
Now, you saved my life in Peking. You
brought to bear your skills and your
experience and kept me from that
oblivion I hear you talked about. And
last night, here in Switzerland, I
saved your life. Using what skills and
experience I have. We're even. Our
compartments in this area aren't
parallel anymore. So don't S
uck son.
I can't be responsible. And that's the
word of a general officer."
By the end of two weeks, Sam was
sure he'd lose what was left of his
sanity. The mere thought of clothes
drove him mad. Throughout his! life
clothes were an accepted part of
living sometimes pleasant, even
ego-fulfilling but they had not been
a subject he ever dwelled on for any
length of time.
That's a nice jacket; the price is
okay. Get it. Shirts? His mother said
he should get shirts. What's wrong
with Filene's? So I'm a lawyer. Okay,
1 Press. Shirts and gray flannels.
Socks? His bureau drawer somehow
always had socks in it. And shorts and
handkerchiefs. A suit was a pretty big
occasion, the few times in his adult
life when he went out and bought one.
Still, he'd never been tempted to have
one tailor-made. And in the goddamned
army, his civilian jackets and
trousers were on hand only because
they meant a change from the goddamned
uniform. No. Clothes had never been a
major factor in ho life.
They were now.
But necessity~art of which was not
losing one's sanity was the mother of
invention. And truer words were never
said. So Sam began to invent, and the
thesis of his invention was that he
was undergoing a sincere change of
position..
It had to be gradual, based on
available alternatives. Since he was
so completely, intrinsically, legally
enmeshed in the Shepherd Company's
operations and since all ave836
nues of separation had been blocked,
what was the point of fighting any
longer? Life was compartmentalized;
and he was locked into a big vault
named MacKenzie Hawkins which also
held some forty million dollars, which
was a lot of chopped liver.
Maybe, just maybe, his negative
approach was selfdefeating, all things
considered. Perhaps, just perhaps, he
should be putting his energies into
productive channels; find areas where
he could contribute. After all, there
was one indelible bottom line. If the
Shepherd Company got blown up, a hell
of a lot of shrapnel would find its
way into the hide of the second and
only other corporate officer of
record.
These were the conjectures he began
to put into words haltingly, without
much conviction at first during
MacKenzie's daily visits at the start
of the third week. But he realized
that simply saying them was not very
persuasive. The Hawk had to see his
mind working, observe the
transformation.
By Wednesday he had built up to the
following:
"Mac, have you considered the legal
aspects after you know, after "
"Ground Zero's good enough. What
legal aspects? Seems to me you've
obliged nicely in that department."
"I'm not so sure. I've been involved
in a fair amount of plea bargaining.
From Boston to Peking."
"What are you talking about?"
"Nothing. I was just oh, nothing."
By Thursday, this: "There could be
consequences abler. . . this Ground
Zero. . . that you haven't thought
out. A cancer could be growing on the
presidency of the Shepherd Company
that ultimately may cripple the
office."
"Spell it out, boy."
"Well.... No, never mind. It's just
conjecture. What was all that noise
this afternoon? It sounded very excit-
ing "
The Hawk squint-eyed him before
being pulled into the question.
"Goddamn, it was exciting," he
answered after several seconds.
"Nothing like the evolvement of
precision in maneuvers! It fires up a
man's heartl What the hell were you
talking~about? This cancer stuff."
- 237
"Oh, forget it. The old legal brain
was just wandering. Are the maneuvers
really all that. . . top drawer?"
"Yeah . . ." Hawkins rolled the
cigar from one side of his mouth to
the other. "They're all right, I
guess."
On Friday: "How was the practice
today? Sounded great."
"Practice? Goddamn, it's not practice,
it's maneuvers!"
"Sorry. How were they?"
"A little sloppy; we've got some minor
difficulties."
"Sorry, again. But I've got
confidence in you. You'll straighten
things out."
`'Yeah. . ." The Hawk paced at the
foot of the bed, his cigar a mashed
pulp. "I may have to pick up a few
diversion troops. Two or three, that's
all. I wasn't concentrating. And,
goddamn, Sam, I would have been
on-thebarrel-sight except for the
trouble you've caused!"
"I told you. I really regret all
that. I wasn't concentrating "
MacKenzie stopped and blurted out
the words. "Do you mean that?"
"Yes," replied Devereaux slowly,
with conviction. "The first thing a
lawyer learns is to deal with facts,
hard evidence. All of it, not just the
bits and pieces. I isolated. I m truly
sorry.
"I won't pretend to understand that
bullshit, but if you feel the way I
think you're saying, what the hell
were you talking about yesterday? And,
damn it, the day before. Those
'consequences' after Ground Zero."
Bingo! as they said in Boston,
thought Devereaux to himself. But he
showed no emotion, he was the calm
probing attorney with his client's
best interests at heart. "All right.
I'll spell it out. I know those trust
accounts Mac. Excluding the one major
trust, which I gather is yours, your
seven men can draw (or have their
consigners draw) up to three hundred
thousand on the basis of the first
code releases. The second code
releases are on a printout sheet in
one of the other documents. The print-
out requires your countersignature and
I assume you'll send it to Zurich just
before you leave for Ground Zero. Am
I right so far?"
"I really skull-sessioned that trust
business. What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Yet. With the second release
each man has a a3s
total of five hundred thousand,
correct? That's his fee, right? A half
a million for Ground Zero. Everybody
the same.
"Not bad for six weeks' work."
"There are other things to consider.
Plea bargaining on a large scale can
include more than immunity. And not
just through writing a book, altho
ugh
I understand a lot of cash is funneled
through publishers these days."
"What are you talking about?" The
Hawk quashed his cigar out on the
bedpost.
"What's to prevent any or all of
your subordinate officers from going
straight to the authorities through
intermediaries, of course and making
separate deals? After the fact. They
have your~money; they avoid
prosecution because they cooperate.
Remember, we're talking about one of
the biggest scores in history. They
would make a few thousand on top of
what they've got."
MacKenzie's squinting eyes suddenly
widened in relief. And
self-satisfaction. There was
definitely a sense of triumph in his
grin. "Is that what you've troubled
yourself over, boy?"
"Don't make light of it '
"Hell, no, I won't. And I didn't.
None of my men would do anything like
that. Because they're going to want to
disappear like jackrabbits running
from a brush fire. They won't surface
anywhere for fear of colliding with
each other."
"Now I don't understand," said Sam
dejectedly.
The Hawk sat on the bed. "I've
covered all that, son. Sort of in the
same way I lashed you to the loaded
howitzer. You gave me the idea. I
intend to say good-bye to each officer
separately. And with each I'm going to
hand him an open-faced bearer bond
worth an additional half million. And
tell him he's the only one getting it.
Because like a good general officer
Robert Ludlum - Road To Gandolfo.txt Page 34
