Robert Ludlum - Aquatain Progression.txt
Page 37
of his laid-back Protestant forebears."
"What was that?" asked Joel, smiling kindly.
"'There's more faith in honest doubt than is held
by all the archangels in the mind of God.'"
"It's very nice. I've never heard it before."
"Maybe I didn't get it right.... Joel, I've got to
see those namest"
"And I have to get my attache case, but I can't go
myself."
"Then I'm elected," said the Navy man. "Do you
think Leifhelm's right? You think he can really call
off Interpol?"
"I'm of two thoughts about it. For my immediate
maneuverability I hope he can. But if he does, it'll
scare the hell out of me."
"I'm on your side about that," agreed Connal,
getting out of the chair. "I'll call the desk and get a
taxi. Give me the key to the locker."
Converse reached into his pocket and pulled out
the small, rounded key. "Leifhelm's seen you. He
could have you followed; he did before."
"I'll be ten times more careful. If I see the same
pair of headlights twice, I'll go to a Bierkeller. I
know a few here."
Joel looked at his watch. "It's twenty minutes to
ten. Do you think you could swing around to the
university first?"
"Dowling?"
"He said he had someone he wanted me to
meet. Just walk by him or them and say
everything's under control, nothing else. I owe him
that much."
"Suppose he tries to stop me?"
"Then pull out your ID and say it's high priority,
or ultrasecret, or whatever bullshit security phrases
that come to that very inventive mind of yours."
"Do I sense a touch of legal envy?"
"No, just recognition. I know where you're
coming from. I,ve been there."
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 237
* * *
Fitzpatrick walked slowly along the wide path on
the south facade of the immense university building,
once the great palace of the all-powerful archbishops
of Cologne. The unimpeded moonlight swelled over
the area, reflecting off the myriad rows of cathedral
windows and lending a luminous dimension to the
light stone walls of the majestic structure. Beyond
the path the winding gardens of August possessed an
eerie elegance circles of sleeping flowers, their
beauty heightened by the moonlight. Connal was so
struck by the tranquil loveliness of the nocturnal
setting that he nearly forgot why he was there.
The reason was brought sharply back into focus
when he saw a slender figure slouched alone on a
bench. The man's legs were extended and crossed at
the ankles, his head covered by a soft cloth hat, but
not sufficiently to hide the flowing gray-blond hair
that protruded slightly over his temples and the back
of his neck. So this Caleb Dowling was an actor,
thought the Navy lawyer, amused by the fact that
Dowling had feigned shock when he realized Connal
did not recognize him. But then, neither had
Converse; they were obviously a minority in a world
of television addicts. A college professor who had
fulfilled the fantasies of youth, a risk-taker, according
to Joel, who had won a battle against astronomical
odds, was a nice thing to think about; the only sad
note was the haunted life of his wife, whom he loved
dearly. Also, a marine who had fought in the bloody
mess that was Kwajalein was a man to be reckoned
with.
Fitzpatrick walked over to the bench and sat
down several feet away from Dowling. The actor
glanced at him, then did a perfectly natural double
take, his head snapping. "You9"
"I'm sorry about last night," said Connal. "I
gather I wasn't very convincing."
"You lacked a certain finish, young fella. Where
the hell is Converse?"
"Sorry again. He couldn't make it, but not to
worry. Everything's A-okay and under control."
"Whose okay and whose control?" countered the
actor, annoyed. "I told Joel to come here, not a
cub-scout interlocutor."
"I resent that. I'm a lieutenant commander in the
United States Navy and the chief legal officer at a
major naval base. Mr. Converse accepted an
assignment from us which has an
238 ROBERT LUDLUM
element of personal risk for him and the highest
priority of classification for us. Back off, Mr.
Dowling. We appreciate and I speak for Converse
as well as myself your interest and your generosity,
but it's time for you to recede. For your own
benefit, incidentally."
"What about Interpol? He killed a man."
"Who tried to kill him, " added Fitzpatrick
quickly, a lawyer rejoining a negative statement by
a witness on the stand. "That will be clarified
internally and the charges dropped."
"You're pretty smooth, Commander," said
Dowling, sitting up. "Better than you were last
night this morning, actually."
"I was upset. I'd lost him and I had to find him.
I had to deliver vital information."
The actor now crossed his legs at the knees and
leaned back, his arm slung casually over the slatted
rim of the bench. "So this thing Converse and you
are involved with is a real hush-hush operation?"
"It's highly classified, yes."
"And you and he being lawyers, it's got
something to do with legal irregularities over here
that somehow reach into the military, is that right?"
"In the broadest sense, again yes. I'm afraid I
can't be any more specific. Converse mentioned that
there was someone you wanted him to meet."
"Yes, there is. I said a couple of harsh things
about him, but I take them back; he was doing his
thing. He didn't know who the hell I was any more
than you did. He's one smart man, tough but fair."
"I hope you understand that under the
circumstances Converse can't comply with your
request."
"You'll do," said Dowling calmly, removing his
arm from the back of the bench.
Connal was suddenly alarmed. There was
movement behind him in the shadowed moonlight;
he whipped his head around, peering over his
shoulder. Out of the protective darkness of the
building from within the pitch-black cover of a
doorway the figure of a man began walking across
the dark green lawn. An arm thrown casually over
the rim of the bench, then just as casually removed.
Both movements had been signals" Identity
confirmed; move in.
"What the hell have you done?" asked the Navy
lawyer harshly.
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 239
"Bringing you two bucks to your senses," replied
Dowling. '.If my celebrated instincts are valid, I did
the right thing. If they're wrong, I still did the right
thing.,'
"W7lat?"
The man crossing the lawn entered the spill of
clear mo
onlight. He was heavyset and wore a dark
suit and tie; his scowling, late-middle-aged face and
straight grey hair gave him the air of a prosperous
businessman. It was clear that at the moment he was
intensely angry.
Dowling spoke as he got up from the bench.
"Commander, may I introduce the Honorable Walter
Peregrine, United States ambassador to the Federal
Republic of Cermany."
Lieutenant David Remington wiped his
steel-rimmed glasses with a silicone-treated tissue,
then threw the tissue into a wastebasket and got up
from his desk. Returning the glasses to his face, he
walked to a mirror secured to the back of his office
door and checked his appearance. He smoothed his
hair, shoved the knot of his tie in place, and looked
down at the failing crease of his trousers. All things
considered it was 1730 hours and he had been
harassed at his desk since 0800 in the morning,
including that crazy Four Zero emergency from
Fitzpatrick he looked quite presentable. And
anyway, Rear Admiral Hickman was not a stickler
for spit and polish where the desk corps was
concerned. He knew damn well that most of the
legal execs would bolt in a minute for much higher
paying jobs in the civilian sector if the dress and
other disposable codes were taken too seriously.
Well, David Remington wouldn't. Where the hell
else could a man travel all over the world, housing a
wife and three kids in some of the nicest quarters
imaginable, with all the medical and dental bills paid
for, and not have the terrible pressures of rising in
private or corporate practice. His father had been an
attorney for one of the biggest insurance companies
in Hartford Connecticut, and his father had had
ulcers at forty-three, a nervous breakdown at
forty-eight, his first stroke at fifty-one, and a final,
massive coronary at fifty-six; everyone had said he
was so terrific at his job he might even be in line for
the presidency. But then, people always said things
like that when a man died in the line of corporate
duty which men did too goddamned frequently.
None of that for David Remington, no sir! He
was simply going to be one of the best lawyers in the
U.S. Navy, serve
240 RORERT LUDLUM
his thirty years, get out at fifty-five with a generous
pension, and become a well-paid legal-military
consultant at fifty-six. At the precise age when his
father died, he would start living very nicely, indeed.
It was simply a matter of building a reputation as a
man who knew more about naval and maritime
law and who stuck to it than any other lawyer in
the Navy. If he stepped on toes in his performance,
so be it; it could only enhance that reputation. He
didn't give a damn about being popular; he cared
only about being right. And he never made a
decision until he was certain of its correct legal
position. Consultants like that were prized
commodities in civilian practice.
Remington wondered why Admiral Hickman
wanted to see him, especially at this hour when
most of the desk corps had gone for the day. There
was a court-martial pending that could become a
sensitive issue. A black officer, an Annapolis
graduate, had been caught selling cocaine off a
destroyer berthed in the Philippines; that was
probably it. Remington had pre-prepared the case
for the judge advocate, who frankly did not care to
prosecute; the amount was not that large, and
others were certainly selling far more, and they
were probably white. That was not the point,
Remington had insisted. If there were others, they
had not been caught, if there was evidence, it had
not been found. The law was color-blind.
He would say the same thing to Hickman. The
"stickler prick," a derisive nickname Remington
knew was used behind his back, would stand firm.
Well, at fifty-six the age at which his father had
been killed by company policy a stickler prick
would have all the comforts of an exclusive country
club without paying the corporate price. Lieutenant
Remington opened the door, walked out into the
grey hallway, and started for the elevator that would
take him to the office of the highest ranking man at
the San Diego naval base.
"Sit down, Remington," said Rear Admiral Brian
Hickman, shaking the lieutenant's hand and
indicating a chair in front of the large desk. "I don't
know about you, but this has been what I used to
call at your age one fucked-up day. Sometimes I
wish Congress wouldn't appropriate so damn much
money down here. Everyone gets on such a high
you'd think they'd smoked everything in Tijuana.
They forget they're supposed to have architects
before they start bribing the contractors."
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 241
"Yes, sir, I know what you mean, sir," said
Remington sithng down with proper deference as
Hickman stood several feet to his left. The mere
reference to Tijuana and drugs confirmed his
suspicions; the admiral was about to launch into the
everybody-does-it routine, which would lead to "Why
should the Navy stir up a racial controversy with
something that took place in the Philippines?" Well,
he was prepared. The law naval law was
color-blind.
"I m going to have a well-deserved drink,
Lieutenant," said Hickman, heading for a copper dry
bar against the wall. "Can I get you something?"
"No, thank you, sir. '
"Hey, look, Remington, I appreciate your staying
late for this conference, I guess you'd call it, but I
don't expect any version of corporate military
behavior. Frankly, I'd feel foolish drinking by myself,
and what we've got to talk about isn't so almighty
important. I just want to ask you a couple of ques-
trons.
"Corporate behavior, sir? I'll have some white
wine, if you have it, sir."
"I always have it," said the admiral with
resignation. "It's usually for personnel who are about
to get divorced."
"I'm happily married, sir."
"Glad to hear it. I'm on my third wife should
have stuck with the first."
The drinks poured, the seating arrangements in
order Hickman spoke from behind the desk, his tie
loosened, his voice casual. But what he said evoked
anything but casualness in David Remington.
"Who the hell is Joel Converse?" asked the admiral.
"I beg your pardon, sir?"
The admiral sighed, the sound indicating that he
would begin again. "At twelve hundred hours
twenty-one minutes today, you placed a CLO
negative on ail inquiries regarding a flag on one
Lieutenant Joel Converse's service record. He was a
pilot in the Vietnam action."
"I know what he was, si
r," said Remington.
"And at fifteen hundred hours, two minutes,"
continued Hickman, looking at a note on his desk. "I
get a teletype from the Fifth Naval District
requesting that the flag be removed in their favor
and the material released immediately. The basis for
their request was as it always is national security."
The admiral paused to sip his drink; he appeared to
be in no
242 ROBERT LUDLUM
hurry, simply weary. "I ordered my adjutant to call
you and ask why you did it."
"And I answered him completely, sir,"
Remington broke in. "It was at the instructions of
the chief legal officer SAND PAC, and I cited the
specific regulation that states clearly that the CLO
of a naval base can withhold files on the basis that
his own inquiries can be compromised by the
entrance of a third party. It's standard in civil law,
sir. The Federal Bureau of Investigation rarely gives
a local or metropolitan police force the information
it's collected in an investigation for the simple
reason that the investigation could be compromised
by leaks or corrupt practices."
"And our chief legal officer, Lieutenant
Commander Fitzpatrick, is currently carrying out an
investigation of an officer who left the service
eighteen years ago?"
"I don't know, sir," said Remington, his eyes
noncommittal. "I only know those were his orders.
They're in force for seventy-two hours. After that,
you, of course, can sign the order of release. And
the President, naturally, can do so anytime in a