bird with Italian air force markings,
flying low, can get through. Two
choppers would be picked up on a
scanner. I don't think any of you
cotton to having your asses a thousand
feet in the air surrounded by the
whole guinea air force. No offense,
Captain Orange.'
The captains looked at each other.
They'd obviously discussed Phase Eight
among themselves, and since the small
helicopter at target center was
lifting out only the Hawk, the pope,
and the two pilots, they had grumbled.
But the commander painted a convincing
picture. The escape routes on the
ground had been exhaustively analyzed
by Gris and Bleu, who were not only
the best in the 246
business, but who would be using them
as well. It was conceivable that the
ground was safer.
"We withdraw our objections," said
Captain Vert.
'Good," said MacKenzie. "Now let's
concentrate on "
It was as far as he got. For in the
distance, across the south field,
running through the grass was the
figure of Sam Devereaux in sweat
pants, shouting at the top of his
lungs.
"One, two, three, fourl What do we
like ~ jog for? Good health, good
health! Five, six, seven, eightl Get
the weight! Out of the freight! Four,
three, two, one! Jogging is a lot
offun!"
"Mon Dies!" cried Captain Bleu. "The
so*-headed one never stopst He has
carried on so for five days nowl"
"Before we rise in the morning!"
added Gris. "During rest periods,
whenever there is a peaceful moment he
is below the windows, shouting."
The other captains joined in a
chorus of agreement. They had accepted
the general's decision not to shoot
the idiot, even grudgingly allowed
that there was no harm in letting the
fool out of the room to exercise as
long as two guards from the Machenfeld
staff were assigned to him. The
jackass wasn't going anywhere; not in
sweat pants, with no top, over a high
barbed-wire fence that led only to
impenetrable Swiss mountain forests.
But they had drawn the line regarding
the clown's participation in Ground
Zero.
So here he was, trying to impress
them with his training. A pathetically
poor athlete who cannot make the team,
but will not stop tryin
"All right. All right," sathe Hawk,
suppressing a laugh. "I'll talk to him
again, make him quiet down. He's just
doing it for your benefit, you know.
He really wants to join the big
fellas."
He was driving them all crazy, and
he knew it. Of course there were times
when he thought he might collapse from
exhaustion, but the knowledge that his
grotesqueries were having their
desired erect kept him going. Everyone
avoided him, some actually ran at the
sight of 247
...
him. His insane behavior had become an
irritating, aggravating joke. Already
three dogs which had appeared out of
nowhere to guard him were taken from
the corridor outside his room to the
staff quarters below because of their
incessant barking. And he made it a
point to run by the staff area
repeatedly. The hounds, themselves
weary of being screamed at for their
perfectly natural reactions, now
merely raised their heads and stared
with hatred at him from behind the
gates as he passed by.
As did the staff and MacKenzie's
officers. Sam was a loud nuisance, a
joke that had worn thin. What was
happening, of course, was that he was
being taken for granted. And in a few
days he would take advantage of that
scorn.
Although he was not allowed to eat
with Mac and his band of psychopaths,
the Hawk was considerate enough to
continue visiting him every day in the
late afternoon when Sam was brought
back to his room and the sweat pants
removed. Devereaux understood. Hawkins
needed a sounding board for his
enthusiasms. And, bragging, he dropped
the information that he and his men
would be away for a day or two to
execute a surveillance check of Ground
Zero. They would then return for any
last-minute alterations of strategy.
But Sam shouldn't be concerned. He
would not be lonely at Machenfeld.
What with the guards, and the dogs,
and the staff.
Sam smiled. For when the Hawk and
his freaks left the chateau, it was
his own personal Ground Zero. He had
begun to prime his guards, the
wild-eyed Rudolph and some obvious
killer with no name. He had convinced
Rudolph and No Name on several
occasions to sit in the middle of a
field as he ran around it. It was not
difficult they were grateful to be
stationary. They simply sat in the
grass with two ominous looking pistols
trained on him as he jogged and
intermittently stopped to perform
calisthenics. On each occasion he had
gradually widened the distance between
him and his guards so that this
afternoon he was nearly 250 yards away
from them.
The army had taught him sornethirq;
about small weap248
ons,heknew that there was no handgun that
was any damned good beyond thirty yards.
Not in terms of accuracy, scatter shot
was something else, but he had to take
some chances. Stopping the Hawk was the
kind of objective that in war made heroes
of unheroic soldiers. What had MacKenzie
saidP "It's commitment. Nothing takes its
place. All the ammo in the world can't be
a substitute...."
Sam was committed. The prospects of
World War Ill loomed larger every day.
His plan was simple. . . and relatively
safe. He had been tempted to give it an
option number, but his options had not
been noticeably successful so he decided
against it. He would Jog here in the
south field, as he was doing now where
the bordering forest was thickest and the
grass higher than in the other pastures.
He would widen the distance between
himself and the guards as he had done
this afternoon and institute intermittent
calisthenics. Among them pushups. Which
naturally brought him close to the
ground, below the [ever of the grass.
At the proper moment, he would crawl
away as fast as he could toward the
forest, then race to the fence. However,
when he reached the fence, he would
not
climb it. Instead, he would remove the
sweat pants properly
torn and throw them over. And then, if
all went as it should, if Rudolph and No
Name were racing in several directionss
at once, he would scream as though
severely
- ~ hurt and get the hell out of the area.
Into the thickest woods.
Rudolph and No Name would naturally run
to the spot at the fence, see the sweat
pants on the other side, and undoubtedly
take the appropriate actions: One would
go over the fence, while the other raced
hack to the chateau for the dogs.
At which point Sam would wait until he
heard the barking. Then he would return
to Machenfeld, go in through the door,
steal clothes and a weapon. From that
point to an automobile in the circular
drive, and a pistol to threaten the
gatekeeper, had to be clear sailing.
It had to bel
What could go wrong?
249
The Hawk wasn't the only one capable of
strategies. He'd learn not to mess with
a Boston lawyer who worked for Aaron
Pinkus!
The shouts interrupted his thoughts. He
was within sight of the maneuver area,
he could see the strange looking road
signs and the vehicles. Rudolph and No
Name were yelling at him to come back.
Naturally, he would oblige; he was not
permitted to observe maneuvers.
"Sorry fellas!" he yelled breathlessly
as he reversed direction, his legs
pounding the soft earth. "Let's head
down to the gate and back and call it a
days"
Rudolph and No Name grimaced and got up
from the grass. Rudolph gave him a
finger; No Name a thumb to the teeth.
Sam made it a point every afternoon to
end his jagging with a run down to the
main gate. It was a good idea to study
the premises as thoroughly as possible
in anticipation of his escape. It was
conceivable that he might have to
operate the mechanism himself, depending
upon the state of panic at the moment.
If it was maximum (as MacKenzie ; would
say) the gate might even be left open.
He contemplated this possibility as his
feet clattered over the boards on the
moat, when suddenly his musings were
replaced by a feeling of discomfort. For
down at the gate a long, black limousine
was being admitted with much bowing-and
obsequious grinning on the part of the
gatekeeper. And when he heard the words
shouted from the driver's seat as the
automobile was expertly whipped out of
the gate area toward him, he froze and
instantly considered drowning himself in
the Machenfeld moat.
"I don't believe it!" yelled Lillian
Hawkins van Schnabe at the wheel. ' Sam
Devereaux in sweat pants! God almighty,
you took my advice. You're toning up
that wreck of a vessel you live in!"
And if he considered drowning himself
at Lillian's words, the next voice he
heard drove him to the railing.
"You surely look better than you did in
London!" shouted Anne from Santa Monica,
Mrs. Hawkins number four Sloping yet
Argumentative. 'Your little trip must
have ;done you a world of good!"
aso -
CHAPTER
Devereaux's escape plan did not become
unglued as had Options One through
Fvur. Neither was it bypassed as
Options Five and Six had been. Nor had
it exploded in a torrent of abuse as
was the fate of Option Seven. It was,
however, postponed.
He suddenly had two additional
guards to contend with, one of whom
was as much a shock to the Hawk as
both were to Sam. MacKenzie admitted
it. Casually, without letting it upset
his schedule; merely using the reality
to bolster his overall
strength turning a liability into an
asset.
"Annie's got a problem, counselor,"
the Hawk said back in Devereaux's
room. "I think you might give it some
legal thought. Do something about it
when this is over."
"All problems pale into
insignificances '
"Not hers. You see, Annie's
family the whole goddamn t:amilv spent
more time in prison than out of it.
Mother, father, brothers she was the
only girl they had record sheets that
took up most of the precinct files in
Detroit."
"I never came across any of that.
It's not in the data banks." Devereaux
was momentarily sidetracked from his
own concerns. MacKenzie wasn't trying
to con him now. There was no fire in
the eyes, only sadness. Truth. But
there hadn't been any mention of a
criminal record in Anne s dossier. If
he remembered correctly, shed been
listed as the only daughter of two
obscure Michigan school teachers who
wrote poetry in medieval French.
Parents deceased.
"Course not," said the Hawk. "I
changed all that for the army. And
everybody else, mainly her. It was a
big hangup for the girl; it was
holding her back., MacKenzie 251
i
1
lowered his voice as if the words were
painful, but
nevertheless a reality that could not be
brushed aside.
"Annie was a hooker. She fell into poor
ways very artifi-
cial ways for her when she was growing
up. She worked
the streets. She didn't know any better
then. She had no
home life, most of the time no home.
When she wasn't
hooking she'd spend her time in
libraries, looking at all
the pretty magazines, imagining what it
would be like to
live decent. She was constantly trying
to improve herself,
you know. She never stops reading, even
now, always after
bettering herself. Because underneath
there's a very fine
person. There always was."
Sam's memory went back to the Savoy.
Anne in bed
with a huge, glossy paperback of The
Wives of Henry Vlll
on her lap. Then later, the words spoken
with such
conviction in the foyer doorway as she
was about to get
dressed. Words that meant a great deal
to her. Devereaux
looked up at the Hawk and repeated them
quietly. "'Don't
change the outside too much or you'll
mess up the inside.'
She said you told her that."
MacKenzie seemed embarrassed. It was
obvious he had
not forgotten. "She had problems. Like I
just said, under-
neath there was a very fine person s
he
didn't recognize. r
Hell, I did. Anybody would."
"What's her legal problem?" Sam asked.
"This goddamned gigolo-waiter husband of
hers. She's
stuck with that fucker for six years;
helped him go from a
hot-pants beach boy to owning a couple
of restaurants. She
built those restaurants. She's damned
proud of them! And
she likes the life. Overlooking the
water, all those boats,
nice people. She lives descent now, and
she did it."
"So?"
"He wants her out. He's got himself
another woman and
he doesn't want any lip from Annie. A
quiet divorce and
just get the hell out."
"She doesn't want the divorce?"
"That's immaterial. She doesn't want to
lose the restau-
rantsl It's principle, Sam. They
represent everything she's
worked for."
"He can't simply take them. There's the
property set-
258
tlement to consider, and California laws
are rough as hell." "So's he. He went
back to Detroit and dug up her police
record.'
Sam paused. "That's a legal problem,"
he said.
"You's work on it?"
"There's not much I can do here.
It's a confrontation problem, big
attack variety. Fire fi:'r fire, dig
up counteraccusations." Devereaux
snapped both his finger~the legal
wunderkind making a brilliant
decision. "Tell you what. Let me out
of here and I'll fly straight to
Californial I'll hire one of the best
LA private detectives like on
television and really go after this
prick!'
"Good thinking, boy," replied the
Hawk, clucking his tongue in respect.
"I like that aggressive tone; you bear
it in mind for later. Say, in a month
or two."
"Why not now? I could "
"I'm afraid you can't. That's out of
the question. You're here for the
Robert Ludlum - Road To Gandolfo.txt Page 36
