logic, he thought. She would know what to do; the
others would not. Talbot, Brooks and Simon were
out. His sister, Virginia, was even further out. His
father? The fly-boy with a sense of responsibility
that went as far as his last wing dip? It could not be
the pilot. He loved old Roger, more than he
suspected Roger loved him, but the pilot could
never come to grips with the ground. Hard earth
meant relationships, and old Roger never knew how
to handle them even with a wife he claimed to have
loved dearly. The doctors said she had died of a
coronary occlusion; her son thought it was from
neglect. Roger was not on the scene, had not been
for several weeks. So that left Valerie . . . his once
and former Valerie.
"Entschuldigen Sie. Ist dieser Platz fret?" The
intruding voice came from a man about his own age,
carrying an attache case.
Joel nodded, assuming the words referred to the
empty seat beside him.
"Danke, " said the man, sitting down, the attache
case at his feet. He withdrew a newspaper from
under his left arm and snapped it open. Converse
tensed as he saw his photograph, his own serious
face staring at him. He turned again to the window,
pulling the soft brim of the hat lower, his face
down, hoping he looked like an exhausted traveller
wishing only to catch a few minuses' sleep.
Moments later, as the train started forward, he had
an inkling that he had succeeded.
"Verru'ckt, nicht wahr.P" said the man with the
attache case reading the newspaper.
Joel stirred and blinked open his eyes beneath
the brim of the hat. "Umm?"
"Schade, " added the man, his right hand
separated from the paper in a gesture of apology.
Converse settled back against the window, the
coolness of the glass an anchor, his eyes closed, the
darkness more welcome than he could ever
remember.... No, that was not true he remembered
to the contrary. In the camps there were momenh
when he was not sure he could keep up the facade
of strength and revolt, when everything in him
wanted to capitulate, to hear even a few kind words,
to see a smile that had
THE AQUlTAlNE PROGRESSION 397
meaning. Then the darkness would come and he
would cry, the tears drenching his face. And when
they stopped, the anger would be inexplicably
restored. Somehow the tears had cleansed him,
purged the doubts and the fears and made him whole
again. And angry again.
"Wir kommen in fief Minuten in Dusseldorf an!'
Joel bolted forward, his neck painfully stiff, his
head cold. He had dozed for a considerable length of
time, judging from the stiffness above his shoulder
blades. The man beside him was reading and
marking a report of some kind, the attache case on
his lap, the newspaper folded neatly between himself
and Converse, folded maddeningly with his
photograph in clear view. The man opened his case,
put the report inside, and snapped it shut. He turned
to Converse.
"Der Zug ist punklich, " he said, nodding his head.
Joel nodded back, suddenly aware that the
passenger across the aisle had gotten up with the
elderly woman, shaking her hand and replying to
something she had said. But he was not looking at
her; his eyes had strayed over to Converse. Joel
slumped back into the seat and the window, resuming
the appearance of a weary traveler, the soft brim of
his hat pulled down to the rims of his glasses. Who
was that man? If they knew each other, how could he
be silent under the circum. stances? How could he
simply look over now and then and casually return to
his conversation with the woman? At the very least,
he would have to betray some sense of alarm or fear,
or, at the minimum, excited recognition.
The train began to slow down, the metallic
grinding of the steel plates against the huge wheels
swelling; soon the whistles would commence for their
arrival in Dusseldorf. Converse wondered if the
German next to him would get off. He had closed his
attache case but made no preliminary moves to rise
and join the line forming at the forward door.
Instead, he picked up the newspaper, opening it,
mercifully, to an inside page.
The train stopped, passengers disembarked and
others got on board mostly women with shopping
boxes and plastic bags emblazoned with the logos of
expensive boutiques and recognisable names in the
fashion industry. The train to [:mmerich was a
suburban "mink run," as Val used to call the af-
ternoon trains from New York to Westchester and
Connecticut. Joel saw that the man from across the
aisle had walked the elderly woman up to the rear of
the line, again shaking
398 ROBERT LUDIUM
her hand solicitously before sidestepping his way
back toward his seat. Converse turned his face to
the glass, his head bowed, and closed his eyes.
"Bitte, konnen wir die Pldtze tauschen? Dieser
Herr ist ein Bekannter. Ich sitze in der ndchsten
Reihe."
"Sicher, aber or schldft ja doch nun "
"Ich wocke ihn. " said Converse s seatmate,
laughing and getting up. The man from across the
aisle had changed seats. He sat down next to Joel.
Converse stretched, covering a yawn with his left
hand, his right slipping under his jacket to the
handle of the gun he had taken from Leifhelm's
chauffeur. If it became necessary he would show
that gun to his new yet familiar companion. The
train started, the noise below growing in volume; it
was the moment. Joel hlrned to the man, his eyes
knowing but conveying nothing.
"I figured it was you," said the man, obviously an
American, grinning broadly but not attractively.
Converse had been right, there was a meanness
about the obese man; he heard it in the voice as he
had heard it before but where he did not
remember. "Are you sure?' asked Joel.
"Sure I'm sure. But I'll bet you're not, are you?"
'Frankly, no.
"I ll give you a hint. I can always spot a good ale
Yank! Only made a couple of mistakes in all the
years of hopping around selling my lid ale line of
look-alike, almost originals."
"Copenhagen," said Converse, remembering with
distaste waiting for his luggage with the man. "And
one of your mistakes was in Rome when you
thought an Italian was a Hispanic from Florida.'
"You got it! That guinea bastard had me
buffaloed, figured him for a spik with a lot of
bread probably from running dope, you know what
I mean? You know how they are, how they cornered
the market from the Keys up.... Say, what s your
name again?"
"Rogers, replied Joel for no other reason than
the f
act that he had been thinking about his father
a while ago. "You speak Cerman, he added, making
a statement.
"Shit, I'd better. West Germany s just about our
biggest market. My old man was a Kraut; it's all he
spoke."
"What do you sell?"
"The best imitations on Seventh Avenue, but don't
get
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 399
me wrong, I'm not one of the Jew boys. You take a
Balenciaga, right? You change a few buttons and a
few pleats, put a ruffle maybe where the Latino
doesn't have one. Then farm the patterns out to the
Bronx and Jersey, lower Miami and Pennsylvania,
where they sew in a label like 'Valenciana.' Then you
wholesale the batch at a third of the price and
everybody's happy except the Latino. But there's
not a tucking thing he can do that'd be worth his
time in court because for the most part it's legal."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that."
"Well, a guy would have to plow through a road
of chazzerai to prove it wasn't legal."
' Sadly, that's true."
"Hey, don't get me wrong! We provide the
merchandise and a service for thousands of nice li'l
ale housewives who can't afford that Paris crap. And
I earn my bread, ale Yankee Doodle. Take that
wrinkled old broad I was with; she owns a half-dozen
specialty shops in Cologne and Dusseldorf, and now
she's looking into Bonn. Let me tell you, I waltz
her...."
The towns and small cities went by. Leverkusen
. . . Lagenfeld . . . Hilden, and still the salesman
went on, one tasteless anecdote leading to the next,
his voice grating, his comments repetitive.
"Wir kommen in fu'nf Minuten in Essen an!"
It happened in Essen.
The commotion came first but it was not sudden.
Instead it grew in volume as an immense rolling
wave gathers force approaching a ragged coastline, a
sustained crescendo culminating in the crash over the
rocks. The embarking passengers all seemed to be
talking excitedly, with one another, heads turned,
necks craned to listen to the voices coming from sev-
eral transistor radios. Some were held against the
ear, others with the volume turned up at the request
of those nearby. The more crowded the train
became, the louder everyone talked as the
conversations were almost drowned out by the shrill
metallic voices of the newscasters. A thin young girl
in the uniform of a private school, her books in a
canvas beach bag and a blaring radio in her left
hand, sat down in the seat in front of Joel and the
salesman. Passengers gathered around shouting,
apparently asking the girl if she could make the radio
louder.
"What's it all about?" asked Converse, turning to
the obese man.
400 ROBERT LUDLUM
'Wait a minute!" replied the salesman, leaning
forward with difficulty and in greater discomfort
rising partially from the seat. "Let me listen."
There was a perceptible lull, but only among the
crowd around the girl, who now held up the radio.
Suddenly there was a burst of static and Converse
could hear two voices, in addition to that of the
newscaster, a remote report from somewhere away
from the radio. And then Joel heard the words
spoken in English; they were nearly impossible to
pick out, as an interpreter kept rushing in to give
the German translahon.
"A full inquiry . . . Eine vollstandiges Verhor. . .
entailing all security forces . . . sin erfordert alle
Sicherheitskrafte . . . has been ordered . . . wurde
veranlasst."
Converse grabbed the salesman's coat. "What is
it tell me what happened?" he asked rapidly.
"That nut hit again! . . . Wait, they're going
back. Lemme hear this." Again there was a short
burst of static and the excited newscaster came back
on the air. A terrible sense of dread spread through
Joel as the onslaught of German crackled out of the
small radio, each phrase more breathless than the
last. Finally the guttural recitation ended. The
passengers straightened their backs. Some stood up,
turning to one another, their voices raised in
counterpoint, excited conversahons resumed. The
salesman lowered himself into the seat, breathing
hard not, apparently, because of the alarming news
he had heard but because of sheer physical
discomfort.
"Would you please tell me what this is all
about?" asked Converse, controlling his anxiety.
"Yeah, sure," said the heavyset man, taking a
handkerchief from his breast pocket and mopping
his forehead. "This mother-loving world is full of
crazies, you know what I mean? For Christ's sake,
you can't tell who the fuck you're talking to! If it
was up to me, every kid who was born cross-eyed or
couldn't find a tit would be buried in dirt. I'm just
sick of the weirdos, you know what I mean?"
"That's very enlightening now, what happened?"
"Yeah, okay." The salesman put the
handkerchief back in his pocket, then loosened his
belt and undid the buttons above his zippered fly.
"The soldier boy, the one who runs the
headquarters in Brussels "
"The supreme commander of NATO, " said Joel,
his dread complete.
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 401
"Yeah, that one. He was shot, his head blown off
right in the goddamned street when he was leaving
some little restaurant in the old section. He was in
civilian clothes, too. '
"When?"
"A couple of hours ago."
"Who do they say did it?"
"The same creep who knocked off that
ambassador in Bonn. The nut!"
"How do they know that?"
"They got the gun."
"The what?"
"The gun. It's why they didn't release the news
right away; they wanted to check the fingerprints
with Washington. It's his, and they figure the
ballistics will show it's the same gun that was used to
kill what's-his-name."
"Peregrine," said Converse quietly, aware that his
dread was not complete. The worst part was only
coming into focus. "How did they get the gun?"
"Yeah, well, that's where they've marked the
bastard. The soldier boy had a guard with him who
shot at the nut and hit him they think on the left
arm. When the weirdo grabbed his arm, the gun
dropped out of his hand. The hospitals and the
doctors have been alerted and all the borders all
over the place are being checked, every tucking
American male passport made to roll up his sleeves,
and anyone looking anywhere's near like him hauled
off to a customs tank."
"They're being thorough," said Joel, not knowing
what else to say,-feeling only the pain of his wound.
"I'll say this for the creep," continued the
salesman, eyes wi
de and nodding his head in some
obscene gesture of respect. "He's got 'em chasing
their asses from the North Sea to the Mediterranean.
They got reports he was seen on planes in Antwerp,
Rotterdam, and back there in Dusseldorf. It only
takes forty-five minutes to get from 'Dussel' to
Brussels, you know. I got a friend in Munich who
flies a couple times a week to have lunch in Venice.
Every place over here's a short hop. Sometimes we
forget that, you know what I mean?"
"Yes, I do. Short flights . . . Did you hear anything
else?"
"They said he could be heading for Paris or
London or maybe even Moscow he could be a
Commie, you know. They're checking the private
airfields, too, figuring he's got friends who are
helping him some friends, huh? A regular happy
group of drooling psychos. They're even comparing
402 ROBERT LUDLUM
him to that Carlos, the one they call 'the jackal,'
what do you think of that? They say if he does go to
Paris, the two of them might link up and there
could be a few more executions. This Converse,
though, he's got his own regular trademark. He puts
bullets in their heads. Some kind of Boy Scout,
huh?"
Joel stiffened, feeling the tension throughout his
slumped body, a sharp hollow pain in the centerof
his chest. It was the first time he had heard his
name spoken casually by a stranger identifying him
as the psychopathic killer, an assassin hunted by
governments whose border patrols were scrutinising
everyone at every checkpoint private airfields
Robert Ludlum - Aquatain Progression.txt Page 62