Robert Ludlum - Aquatain Progression.txt

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by The Aquitaine Progression [lit]


  contents covered by a cloth. It was only then that

  Converse's attention was drawn back to the sunlit

  doorway. Outside, milling about in anxious contempt

  was the pack of Dobermans, their shining black eyes

  continually shifting toward the door, their lips curled

  teeth bared in unending quiet snarls.

  "GutenMorgen, main Herr," said Leifhelm's

  chauffeur, then shifting to English, 'Another

  beautiful day on the northern Rhine, no?'

  "It's bright out there, if that's what you mean,"

  replied Joel, his hand still cupping his eyes. "I

  suppose I should be grateful to be able to notice

  after last night."

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 313

  "Last night?" The German paused, then added

  quietly, "It was two nights ago, Amerikaner. You've

  been here for the past thirty-three hours."

  "Thirty?" Converse pushed himself up and swung

  his legs over the side of the cot. Instantly he was

  overcome by dizziness too much strength had been

  drained. Oh Christ! Don't waste movement. They'll be

  back. The bastards! "You bastards," he said out loud

  but without any real emotion. Then for the first time

  he realized he was shirtless, and noticed the bandage

  on his left arm between his elbow and his shoulder.

  It covered the gunshot wound. "Did somebody miss

  my head?" he asked.

  "I'm told you inflicted the injury yourself. You

  tried to kill General Leifhelm but shot yourself when

  the others were taking your gun away."

  "I tried to kill? With my nonexistent gun? The

  one you made sure I didn't have?"

  "You were too clever for me, mein Herr."

  "What happens now?"

  "Now? Now you eat. I have instructions from the

  doctor. You begin with the Hafergrlitze how do you

  say? the porridge."

  "Hot mush or cereal," said Joel. "With skimmed

  or powdered milk. Then some kind of soft-boiled

  eggs taken with pills. And if it all goes down, a little

  ground meat, and if that stays down, a few spoonfuls

  of crushed turnips or potatoes or squash. Whatever's

  available."

  "How do you know this?" asked the uniformed

  man, genuinely surprised.

  "It's a basic diet," said Converse cynically.

  "Variations with the territory and the supplies. I once

  had some comparatively good meals.... You're

  planning to put me under again."

  The German shrugged. "I do what I'm told. I

  bring you food. Here, let me help you."

  Joel looked up as the chauffeur approached the

  cot. "Under other circumstances I'd spit in your

  goddamned face. But if I did I wouldn't have that

  slight, slight possibility of spitting in it some other

  time. You may help me. Be careful of my arm."

  "You are a very strange man, main Herr."

  "And you're all perfectly normal citizens catching

  the early train to Larchmont so you can put down

  ten martinis before going to the PTA meeting."

  314 ROBERT LUDLUM

  "Was ist? I know of no such meeting. '

  'They're keeping it secret; they don't want you

  to know. If I were you, I'd get out of town before

  they make you president."

  "Mich? President?"

  "Just help me to the chair, like a good ale

  Aryan boy, will you?'

  "Hah, you are being amusing, ja?"

  "Probably not," said Converse, easing into the

  wooden chair. 'it's a terrible habit I wish I could

  break." He looked up at the bewildered German.

  "You see, I keep trying," he said in utter

  seriousness.

  Three more days passed, his only visitor the

  chauffeur accompanied by the sullen, high-strung

  pack of Dobermans. His well-searched suitcase was

  given to him, scissors and a nail file removed from

  the traveling kit his electric razor intact. It was

  their way of telling him that his presence had been

  removed from Bonn, leaving him to painfully

  speculate about the life or death of Connal

  Fitzpatrick. Yet there was an inconsistency and, as

  such, the basis for hope. No allusions were made to

  his attache case, either with visual evidence the

  page of a dossier, perhaps or through his brief

  exchanges with Leifhelm's driver. The generals of

  Aquitaine were men of immense egos; if they had

  those materials in their possession, they would have

  let him know it.

  As to his conversations with the chauffeur, they

  were lirnited to questions on his part and

  disciplined pleasantries on the German's part, no

  answers at all at least, none that made any sense:

  "How long is this going to go on? When am I

  going to see someone other than you?"

  "There is no one here, sir, except the staff.

  General Leifhelm is away in Essen, I believe. Our

  instructions are to feed you well and restore your

  health."

  Incommunicado. He was in solitary.

  But the food was not like that given to

  prisoners anywhere else. Roasts of beef and lamb,

  chops, poultry and fresh fish; vegetables that

  unquestionably had come directly from a nearby

  garden. And wine which at first Joel was reluctant

  to drink, but when he did, even he knew it was

  superior.

  On the second day, as much to keep from

  thinking as from anything else, he had begun to

  perform mild exer

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 315

  cises as he had done so many years ago. By the

  third day he had actually worked up a sweat during

  a running-in-place session, a healthy sweat, telling

  him the drugs had left his body. The wound on his

  arm was still there, but he thought about it less and

  less. Curiously, it was not serious.

  On the fourth day questions and reflections were

  no longer good enough. Confinement and the

  maddening frustration of having no answers forced

  him to turn elsewhere, to the practical, to the most

  necessary consideration facing him. Escape.

  Regardless of the outcome the attempt had to be

  made. Whatever plans Delavane and his disciples in

  Aquitaine had for him, they obviously included

  parading a drugless man more than likely a dead

  man with no narcotics in his system. Otherwise they

  would have killed him at once, disposing of his body

  in any number of untraceable ways. He had done it

  before. Could he do it again?

  He was not rotting in a rat-infested cell and there

  was no terrible gunfire in the distant darkness, but it

  was far more important that he succeed now than it

  ever was eighteen years ago. And there was an

  extraordinary irony: eighteen years ago he had

  wanted to break out and tell whoever would listen to

  him about a madman in Saigon who sent countless

  children to their deaths or worse, who left those

  children to suffer broken minds and hollow feelings

  for the rest of their lives. Now he had to tell the

  world about that same madman.


  He had to get out. He had to tell the world what he

  knew.

  Converse stood on the wooden chair, the short

  curtain pulled back, and peered between the black

  metal bars outside. His cabin, or cottage, or

  jailhouse, whatever it was, seemed to have been

  lowered from above onto a clearing in the forest.

  There was a wall of tall trees and thick foliage as far

  as he could see in either direction, a dirt path

  angling to the right beneath the window. The

  clearing itself extended no more than twenty feet in

  front of the structure before the dense greenery

  began; he presumed it was the same on all sideshow

  it was from the other window to the left of the door

  except that there was no path below, only a short,

  coarse stubble of brown grass. The two front

  windows were the only views he had. The rest of this

  isolated jailhouse consisted of unbroken walls and a

  small ceiling vent in the bathroom but no other

  openings.

  All he could be certain of, since the chauffeur and

  the

  316 ROBERT LUDLUM

  dogs and the warm meals were proof he was still

  within the grounds of Leifhelm's estate, was that the

  river could not be far away. He could not see it, but

  it was there and it gave him hope more than hope,

  a sense of morbid exhilaration rooted in his

  memory. Once before the waters of a river had been

  his friend, his guide, ultimately the lifeline that had

  taken him through the worst of his journey. A

  tributary of the Huong Khe south of Duc Tho had

  rushed him silently at night under bridges and past

  patrols and the encampments of three battalions.

  The waters of the Rhine, like the currents of the

  Huong Khe years ago, would be his way out.

  The multiple sounds of animal feet pounding the

  earth preceded the streaking dark coats of the

  Dobermans as they raced belong the window,

  instantly stopping and crowding angrily in front of

  the door. The chauffeur was on his way with a

  breakfast no prisoner in isolation should expect.

  Joel climbed off the chair and quickly carried it

  back to the table, setting it in place and going to his

  cot. He sat down, kicked off his shoes, and lay back

  on the pillow, his legs stretched out over the

  rumpled blanket.

  The bolt was slid back, the key inserted and the

  heavy knob turned; the door opened. As he did

  every time he entered, the German pushed the

  center of the door with his right hand as he

  supported the tray with his left. However this

  morning he was gripping a bulging object in his

  right hand, the blinding sunlight obscuring it for

  Converse. The man walked in and, more awkwardly

  than usual, placed the tray on the table.

  ' 1 have a pleasant surprise for you, main Herr.

  I spoke with General Leifhelm on the telephone last

  night and he asked about you. I told him you were

  recovering splendidly and that I had changed the

  bandage on your unfortunate injury. Then it

  occurred to him that you had nothing to read and

  he was very upset. So an hour ago I drove into

  Bonn and purchased three days of the International

  Herald Tribune. " The driver placed the rolled-up

  newspapers next to the tray on the table.

  But it was not the issues of the Herald Tribune

  that Joel stared at. It was the German s neck and

  the upper outside pocket of his uniform jacket. For

  looped around that neck and angled over to that

  pocket was a thin silver chain, with the protruding

  top of a tubular silver whistle clearly visible against

  the dark fabric. Converse shifted his eyes to the

  door;

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 317

  the Dobermans were sitting on their haunches, each

  breathing noisily and salivating, but, to all intents and

  purposes, immobile. Converse remembered his

  arrival at the general s monumental lair and the

  strange Englishman who had controlled the dogs with

  a silver whistle.

  'Tell Leifhelm I appreciate the reading material,

  but I'd be even more grateful if I could get out of

  this place for a few minutes. "

  ':la, with a plane ticket to the beaches in the

  south of France, rein?"

  "For Christ's sake, just to take a walk and stretch

  my legs What's the matter? Can't you and that

  drooling band of mas tiffs handle one unarmed man

  getting a little air? . . . No you're probably too

  frightened to try." Joel paused, then added in an

  insulting mock-Cerman accent. '''I do vot I am tort.

  The driver's smile faded. "The other evening you

  said you would not apologise but instead break my

  neck. That was a joke. Do you understand? A joke

  I find so amusing I can laugh at it."

  "Hey, come on,' said Converse, changing his tone

  as he swung his legs off the cot and sat up. "You're

  ten years younger than I am and twenty times

  stronger. I felt insulted and reacted stupidly, but if

  you think I'd raise a hand against you you're out of

  your mind. I m sorry. You've been decent to me and

  I was stupid again."

  "la, you were stupid," said the German without

  rancor "But also you were right. I do as I am told.

  And why not? It is a privilege to take orders from

  General Leifhelm. He has Been gut to me."

  "Have you been with him long?"

  "Since Brussels. I was a sergeant in the Federal

  Republic's border patrols. He heard about my

  problem and took an interest in my case. I was

  transferred to the Brabant garrison and made his

  chauffeur."

  "What was your problem? I'm a lawyer, you know."

  Dhde charge was that I strangled a man With my "

  'ha. He was trying to put a knife in my

  stomach and lower. He said I took advantage of his

  daughter. I took no advantage; it was not necessary.

  She was a whore it was in the clothes she wore, the

  way she walked es ist klar! The father was a pig!"

  318 ROBERT LUDLUM

  Joel looked at the man, at the clouded

  malevolence in his eyes. "I can understand General

  Leifhelm's sympathies," he said.

  "Now you know why I do as I am told."

  "Clearly."

  He is calling for his messages at noon. I shall

  ask him about your walking. You understand that

  one word from me and the Dobermans will rip your

  body from its bones."

  "Nice puppies," said Converse, addressing the

  pack of dogs outside.

  Noon came and the privilege was granted. The

  walk was to take place after lunch when the driver

  returned to remove the tray. He returned, and after

  several severe warnings Joel ventured outside, the

  Dobermans crowding around him black nostrils

  flared, white teeth glistening, bluish-red tongues

  flattened out in anticipation. Converse looked

  around; for the first time he saw that the small

  house wa
s made of thick, solid stone. The unique

  squad began its constitutional up the path, Joel

  growing bolder as the dogs lost a degree of interest

  in him under the harsh admonitions of the German

  s commands. They began racing ahead and regroup-

  ing in circles, snapping at one another but always

  whipping their heads back or across at their master

  and his prisoner. Converse walked faster.

  "I used to jog a lot back home," he lied.

  "Was ist? 'Jog'?"

  "Run. It's good for the circulation."

  "You run now, main Herr, you will have no

  circulation. The Dobermans will see to it."

  "I've heard of people getting coronaries from

  jogging too," said Joel, slowing down, but not

  reducing the speed with which his eyes darted in all

  directions. The sun was directly overhead; it was no

  help in determining direction.

  The dirt path was like a marked single line in an

  intricate network of hidden trails. It was bordered

  by thick foliage, more often than not roofed by

  low-hanging branches, then breaking open into short

  stretches of wild grass that might or might not lead

  to other paths. They reached a fork, the leg to the

  right curving sharply into a tunnel of greenery. The

  dogs instinctively raced into it but were stopped by

  the chauffeur, who shouted commands in German.

  The Dobermans spun around, bouncing off each

  other, and returned to the fork, then raced into the

  wider path on the left. It was an in

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 319

  cline and they started up a steep hill, the trees

 

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