Corsican Honor

by William Heffernan

  “Y-y-es,” Stephanie stammered, sobbing again.

  Ludwig threw back his head and laughed, then caught himself, as if suddenly acknowledging the unexpected complication. He began to slowly pace the room. He stopped and stared at her, a smile coming gradually to his lips.

  “But he’ll come for you, won’t he?” He looked at her, his eyes drinking in the litheness of her body. She cringed, reading his thoughts.

  Ludwig studied her fear, her sudden realization that he could do whatever he wished with her. The sight of it sent a sensation of warmth through his groin.

  “Oh, yes, he’ll come. He’ll come wherever I tell him to.” His smile widened. “And his pain, when I speak to him, will be wondrous.” His face hardened, his features changing with the speed of a switch being thrown. “Get up! And get your coat!” he snapped.

  Alex got to the office late—ten o’clock—a full hour and a half past his normal time. He had stayed up drinking the night before—in part because of Blount, but mostly due to images of Stephanie, images he had never wanted to see.

  His secretary looked at him reproachfully. Not because he was late, he thought. But because he looked like what he had done.

  “Stop being a surrogate mother,” he threw at her, marching past her desk and into his office.

  She followed him in moments later, as he was just settling behind his desk, his coat already off and thrown carelessly onto the sofa. She placed a cup of coffee on the desk in front of him, looked down at him for a moment, then turned to leave.

  “If you have something to say, Julie, just say it and go away,” he said.

  “Why would I have anything to say?” she said, starting for the door. “I’m not that kind of employee.” She moved to the door. “The general wants you to call him,” she said as she reached for the doorknob, then casually glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, by the way. You look like shit,” she said.

  “Thank you,” Alex said as the door closed behind her.

  He eased back in his chair and drew a breath. The general was Pat Cisco, director of the DIA, a man who had been his friend and “rabbi” in the agency, but still very definitely a man whose call he could neither ignore nor postpone. He pushed the intercom button. “Please get the general for me,” he said when Julie responded.

  “His phone’s ringing now,” she said.

  “Damned woman’s too efficient,” he muttered, picking up the receiver. “I’ve got it,” he said to Julie just as Cisco’s secretary answered.

  When Pat Cisco got on the line, he began talking as though their conversation had been going on for several minutes. “This kid Blount,” he said. “It was Ludwig who got him?”

  “Yeah, it was Ludwig,” Alex said.

  “Fucker,” Cisco said. “I want this bastard’s ass. He’s on a short list, of maybe five, that have been running circles around us. Around everybody. Carlos, Abu Nidal, hell, you know who they all are. Motherfucking bastards.”

  Cisco was a retired army general who had never lost his military “in-the-field” idiom. Alex had always wondered if he used it with the president. He doubted it. The man was slick when he wanted to be. He was the type who could walk across a chocolate cake and never leave footprints. But he stuck by his people. Over and above anything else, he stuck by them like glue.

  “If he’s getable, we’ll get him,” Alex said. “He was hit in the Shootout,” he added.

  “Bad?” Cisco asked, a note of hope and some unmistakable pleasure in his voice.

  “Not bad enough,” Alex said. “Flesh wound somewhere on the right side of his head. Bled pretty heavy, but then all head wounds do. He still had enough in him to run like an elk,” he added.

  Cisco grunted. “You get him?” he asked.

  “Yeah. One lucky round out of four.”

  “So tell me about Blount.” The real reason for the call.

  “I fucked up,” Alex said.

  “How so?”

  “Wasn’t doing my job earlier in the day. Wasn’t out there supervising him like I should have been. He went off on his own that night after the guy, after he was told to go home. He got lucky and spotted Ludwig.” Alex paused, drawing a breath. “Ludwig must have picked up on the tail. As soon as we were deployed, and waiting for backup, he was out the door and walking away. Blount made a move he shouldn’t have made, and Ludwig blew him away. It was a general fuck-up, but it started at my door.”

  “Happens,” Cisco said. “Don’t put any of that in the official report. Just leave it clean and simple. Never know who’s gonna read that shit.”

  Alex felt gratitude but no lessening of guilt.

  “I hear you and Stephanie split up,” Cisco said.

  Shit, Alex thought. The man’s pipeline was unreal. “Yeah, for now anyway.”

  “Sorry to hear it. I always liked the lady.”

  Yeah, me too, Alex thought, grateful that Cisco hadn’t expressed any hackneyed hope things would work out. Probably even knows who she was sleeping with, he decided.

  “I’ll get my mind back on my job,” he said.

  “That would be good,” Cisco said. “All the way around. You go get that fuck, Alex. The KGB’s got to be hiding him out. Go sit on every asset and safe house you know about. You using Pisani’s people?”

  “Full time,” Alex said.

  “Good. Those fucking Corsicans are better’n bloodhounds. Don’t put any restrictions on them. Let them cut the bastard’s balls off when they find him. The promise of a little blood sport seems to make them work harder, I’ve noticed.”

  “You got it, General,” Alex said.

  “Good,” Cisco said. “And, Alex. Take an old man’s advice. Take your time with Stephanie. And go easy on yourself.”

  “Thanks, General. I’ll try.”

  Alex replaced the receiver and stared at it. Pat Cisco had been the man who had guided his career—safeguarded it from agency politics—a job he had mistakenly thought his father would assume.

  He was just beginning to think about that when the intercom buzzed. He pushed the button. “Yes, Julie,” he said.

  “Consulate on line two,” she said. “A Gerard Morganthau. Sounds very Boston brahmin.”

  Alex punched the appropriate button. Gerard Morganthau began nervously, explained there was something he felt they should discuss, and suggested they meet for lunch. Alex immediately knew who the man was. He felt his stomach tighten.

  “We’re kind of up to our ears here right now,” Alex said. “Let’s do this on the phone, then maybe meet later when things quiet down around here.”

  Morganthau paused, as if gathering his thoughts. “Yes,” he said, then paused again.

  Tough thing to say, Alex thought. Excuse me, but I’ve been fucking your wife. No offense intended, really.

  “I understand Stephanie has told you about us,” Morganthau began.

  “She told me there was someone. I didn’t know who,” Alex said. Take that little surprise, he added to himself.

  “Oh,” Morganthau said, then stopped, gathering himself from his unexpected faux pas. “I was sure she had.” He paused again. “And I thought I should call and explain.” Another pause. “As well as assure you that everything is over between us.” The final words were rushed, coming from someone eager to please.

  Fuck you, Alex thought. He said nothing.

  Morganthau waited, then realized he would get only silence for now. “It was just something that happened. Not something either of us planned. God, I know that sounds like the worst of clichés, but it is true.” He paused again.

  “Go on,” Alex said. He wished he could grab the silly, babbling bastard by the throat and shake him.

  “Well, I-I just wanted you to know that. Especially that it’s over.” He hesitated again. “I hope there won’t be any difficulty between us.”

  Alex closed his eyes, the muscles along his jaw doing a rapid dance. It was the diplomat’s view of spooks, as they called them. People whose linchpin of life, they believed, was g
ratuitous, never ending violence.

  “I have no intention of doing anything to you or about you, Morganthau,” Alex said. “Whether you keep seeing Stephanie or not. That’s a decision she’ll make, and something we’ll each deal with individually.”

  “Oh, I …” He hesitated again, and Alex could almost hear him wondering if he were simply being put off guard, if Alex thought the conversation might be recorded, if, if, if, if, if.

  “Well, I just want to assure you it is over,” he added.

  “Good-bye, Morganthau,” Alex said and hung up. Sonofabitch, he thought. Goddamned weasel of a sonofabitch.

  “You! You! You! Out!” Bugayev jabbed a finger at each of his men, punctuating his words, then turned on Ludwig, face flushed, eyes gleaming. “You have lost your mind!” he snapped. “And the KGB will have no part in your insanity.”

  “I’m amazed, comrade,” Ludwig said, his own eyes filled with open delight at Bugayev’s rage. “I thought you would leap at the chance to help me.”

  Bugayev fought for control, normally an easy matter for him. But not with this man. “There will be no men here with you,” he said. “Not now. Not when you finish whatever it is you plan. When the ship is ready for you, we will tell you. If you get there, you will be allowed to board.” He paused, staring at the man. “For one, I hope you never get there.”

  “I am touched by your solicitousness, comrade,” Ludwig taunted.

  Bugayev turned, walked to the door, then turned back. “You are a disgrace to socialism,” he said. “You disgrace my country for having dealt with you. You disgrace the agency of that government I serve. I only wish you worked for the other side, where you belong.” He stared at the younger man. “Because then I could personally arrange your extermination.”

  Bugayev left to the sound of Ludwig’s laughter.

  But the laughter faded and stopped within moments, replaced by a look of seething hatred. They were all alike, Ludwig told himself. The lackeys of both sides, both applying rules of morality that didn’t exist, were never practiced in any way, but were always mouthed whenever reality made them squeamish.

  He turned on his heel, marched to the closed bedroom door, and threw it open, forcing it to crash loudly against the wall. The sound, and the sight of him standing there, made the woman jump in place. He stared down at her. She was seated on the end of the bed, her mouth gagged, hands tied behind her back.

  “Get up!” he ordered. “We are going to telephone your husband. You will tell him only that you are well, that you are with Ernst Ludwig, and that I shall kill you if he doesn’t do exactly as I say.” He paused, glaring at her for effect. “Then you will come back in here and you will shut the door with your foot. If you don’t do exactly as I have said, your husband will hear you die over the telephone. Do … you … understand?”

  He watched Stephanie nod her head like a foolish puppet, then crossed the room to her and ripped the tape from her mouth.

  “Now we go to the telephone,” he said, pushing her ahead of him.

  Alex’s hand gripped the receiver as though he were trying to crush it as he listened to Stephanie’s words.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  He heard her say yes, then a cry of surprise as the telephone was yanked away from her. “Go,” he heard a voice say.

  A few seconds later the same voice purred into the phone. “Good morning, Alex,” the voice said. “I hope I’m not interrupting any vital government business.”

  “Just tell me what you want, Ludwig,” Alex said, his own voice barely under control.

  “Ah, the ever practical American,” Ludwig said. He paused and let out a soft laugh. “What I want is to be able to avoid killing your wife. Will you help me do that?”

  Before Alex could answer, Ludwig continued, “Of course you will. She is such a marvel in bed, isn’t she?” He paused again, enjoying what he perceived to be Alex’s shocked silence. “I especially like the way she plays with my balls when she has me in her mouth. But I’m sure you know that little trick of hers as well as I. It was what so attracted me to her—let’s see, three, or is it four, months ago now.”

  “Get to the point, Ludwig.” Alex’s hands were trembling, and he was fighting to keep it from his voice.

  “The point, my friend, is that I have no need to kill a woman with such splendid talents. But you seem to offer me little choice, except to threaten to do exactly that. And I always make good on my threats. But of course you know that, don’t you?”

  “Tell me what you want,” Alex said. His teeth were clenched to keep any tremor from his voice.

  “Oh, it is so simple,” Ludwig said, his voice light, goading. “I will need a passport. I would prefer West German, but American will do. It must be blank and unnumbered, but, of course, the appropriate seals must be in place. I have the ability to number it and affix the necessary photograph and name.” He continued, his voice almost purring again. “And, please, no infrared markings or other ways of identifying it. It will be thoroughly checked, and any foolishness of that sort will be treated very badly.”

  “Is that all?” Again the clenched teeth.

  “Oh, no. You must also call off your dogs. I will not telephone again unless I see that you have. I will simply send you a note about where to have dear Stephanie’s body collected.”

  “You’ve got it. I’d like to speak to her again.”

  “I’ll let you know where, and when, the passport is to be delivered.” He paused, drawing out the moment for effect. “And I’m afraid you won’t be able to speak to your wife again right now. I’m going to entertain her. She does so love to be entertained.”

  Ludwig replaced the receiver, then turned and walked slowly back to the bedroom. He opened the door and walked casually to the bed, removing his shirt as he did. He let it drop to the floor, then unbuckled his trousers and removed them as well.

  He stared down at Stephanie, who was again seated on the edge of the bed. Her eyes were wide, terrified.

  “I have something delightful for you,” he said, his voice soft, almost gentle. “It must never be said that Ernst Ludwig was caught out in a lie.”

  CHAPTER

  11

  Antoine Pisani’s face was a rigid mask as he listened to Alex relate the telephone conversation with Ludwig. Alex spared no detail, hid nothing in the telling of it. He wanted his “uncle” to know everything, wanted it clear he must do exactly what he was asked. As he listened, Antoine’s fingers gripped the arms of his chair as though he might rip them free at any moment. To Antoine, any attack against a member of his family was an attack against every member, an attack against his own being. To the aging Corsican, right or wrong, justice or injustice, played no part in the equation. Any attack required only one response, and it must be swift, and it must be overwhelming. And to Antoine’s mind—though it was nothing more than a fabrication created over the years—Alex was very much a part of his family.

  “So what would you have me do to help you?” Antoine asked when Alex had finished. There was a hint of concern in his voice, a note of suspicion that Alex was prepared to do something unwise, something foolhardy.

  “I need your people off the street,” Alex said. His hands were twisting on the arms of his own chair, the fingers opening and closing as though he were exercising his grip with rubber balls.

  Antoine picked up on the nervous gesture, the look in Alex’s eyes, the panic that seemed to pour off him. The man was not operating in anger, he was operating in fear. It was not fear for himself, but it was fear nonetheless. And that, Antoine knew, was a harbinger of disaster.

  “I’ve already pulled my people off,” Alex continued. “There’s no choice. I know this man, I know his history. He’ll kill her, Uncle. Just as sure as we sit here.”

  Antoine gathered himself, forcing the anger away. No one, he knew, truly listened to an angry man.

  “You know this man—this pig—intends to kill you.” It was a statement, not a question. He watche
d Alex nod his head. “When he tells you where to come, will you take men with you? Preferably my men?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead,” Alex conceded.

  “Have you talked to General Cisco?”

  Alex shook his head.

  Antoine reached across the small distance between their two chairs and laid a beefy hand on Alex’s arm. “I don’t say this to hurt you,” he said softly. “I only say it for the sake of reality. But have you considered the fact that this man—this animal of the worst kind—will kill Stephanie no matter what you do? That she will be dead even before you go to him?”

  Alex’s face drained of the little color left in it. “I have to gamble that she won’t be,” he said. “I don’t have any other choice.”

  There was a look of abject resignation in Alex’s eyes, in the tone of his voice, and Antoine wondered if it was due to Alex’s comprehension that he was starting out on his own funeral march, or because of what Ludwig had told him—that he had been with Stephanie for months now—which, if true, had already drained the will to live from him.

  “He has lied to you about her, you know,” Antoine said. “This shit he speaks about being with her before. It is his way of torturing you.”

  Alex stared at him, his eyes, his face void of expression. “Are you sure?” he said, his voice as flat as his features.

  “I am sure,” Antoine said. He sat back, releasing Alex’s arm. “When you go to him, how will you kill him?” he asked at length.

  Alex shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. First I’ll make sure she’s safe.”

  “You must have people with you, then.” There was no question, no room for argument in Antoine’s words.

  Alex nodded. He was staring at the floor. “Yes, you’re right about that.” He looked up suddenly, his eyes sharp. “But far back. Just to make sure he doesn’t get away if he kills me, if he kills …” He allowed the sentence to die unfinished.

  Antoine nodded, his face set and grim. The man was not thinking, he told himself, but there was nothing he could do to change the fact.

  “I will be there for whatever you need,” he said.