Robert Ludlum - Aquatain Progression.txt
Page 83
"Air Force, Recruit Command, Denver,"
announced the female operator.
"I wondered if you could help me, miss," said
Val, her eyes darUng about at the traffic, looking
for a roving brown sedan with u.s. ARMY printed
across its doors. "I'm trying to locate an officer, a
relative, actually . . ."
"One minute, please. I'll transfer you."
"Personnel, Denver Units," came a second voice,
now male. "Sergeant Porter."
"Sergeant, I'm trying to locate an officer,
'repeated Valerie. "A relative of mine who left word
with an aunt that he wanted to reach me."
"Where in Colorado, ma'am?"
"Well, I'm not sure."
"The Springs? The Academy? Lowry Field or
possibly Cheyenne Mountain?"
"I don't know that he is in Colorado, Sergeant."
"Why did you call Denver, then?"
"You were in the telephone book."
"I see." The Army man paused. "And this officer
left word that he wanted to reach you?"
"Yes."
"But he didn't leave an address or a telephone
number."
"If he did, my aunt lost it. She's quite elderly."
"The procedure is as follows, miss. If you will
write a letter to the MPC Military Personnel
Center at the Randolph Air Force Base, San
Antonio, Texas, staking your request and the
officer's name and rank, the letter will be
processed."
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 533
"I don't have time, Sergeant! I travel a great
deal I'm calling from an airport now, as a matter of
fact."
"I'm sorry, miss, those are the regulations.'
"I'm not a 'miss' and my cousin's a general and
he really does want to speak to me! I just want to
know where he is, and if you can't tell me, certainly
you can call him and give him my name. I'll call you
back with a number where he can reach me. That's
reasonable, isn't it, Sergeant? Frankly, this is an
emergency."
"A general, ma'am?"
"Yes, Sergeant Potter. A General Abbott."
"Sam Abbott? I mean, Brigadier General Samuel
Abbott?"
"That's the one, Sergeant Potter."
"Porter, ma'am."
"I'll remember that."
"Well, I can't see any security breach here,
miss ma'am. Everybody knows where General
Abbott is stationed. He's a popular officer and in the
newspapers a lot."
"Where is that, Sergeant? I'll personally tell him
you've been most helpful to both of us."
"Nellie Air Force Base in Nevada, ma'am, just
outside Las Vegas. He commands the advanced
tactical maneuver squadrons. All the squadron
commanders get their final training at Nellis. He's
the man.... May I have your name, please?"
"Oh, good Lord! There's the last boarding call for
my plane! Thank you, Sergeant." Valerie hung up the
phone, her eyes still scanning the street, trying to
decide what to do whether to call Sam now or wait.
Suddenly she realized she could not call; it would
mean using a credit card, origin of call and
destination listed. She went back to the taxi.
"Lady, I'd just as soon get out of here, if you
don't mind," said the driver, a quiet urgency in his
voice.
"What's the matter?"
"I keep a police scanner in my cab in case there's
problems in my neighborhood, and I just heard the
word. An Army captain was clobbered on Fifty-fifth
and Madison by a black driver of a taxi heading
north. Lucky for me they didn't get the license or the
company, but the description's pretty good. 'A big
black son of a bitch with a size-twelve fist' was the
way those mothers put it."
"Let's go," said Val. "I hate to say this, and I
mean that but I can't get involved." The cab sped
forward, the driver
534 R03ERT LUDLUM
turning east on Eightieth Street. "Is my husband
pressing charges?" she asked.
"No, I'm off the hook there," replied the driver.
"He must have punched you real bad. He just fled
and had nuthin' to say. Bless his white heart. Where
to?"
"Let me think."
"It's your meter."
She had to get to Las Vegas, but the idea of
going back to Kennedy or LaGuardia airports
frightened her. They seemed too logical, too easily
anticipated. remembered. About five or six years
ago she and Joel were weekending with friends in
Short HiDs, New Jersey, when Joel got a call from
Nathan Simon, teeing him he had to fly to Los
Angeles on Sunday for a Monday-morning meeting.
All the legal papers would be sent to the Beverly
Hills Hotel by air express. Joel had taken the plane
from Newark Airport.
"Can you drive me to Newark?"
"I can drive you to Alaska, lady, but Newark?"
"The airport."
"That's better. It's one of the best. I guess
Newark's okay, too. I got a brother there and, hell,
he's stiD alive. I'D swing through the park at
Sixty-fifth and head down to the Lincoln Tunnel. Do
you mind if I turn on the scanner again?"
"No, go right ahead."
The voices went in and out, then the driver
pushed a button and they became steady: "Incident
at Fifty-fifth and Madison is a negative.. Precinct
Ten has called it off as the victim refused assistance
and did not identify himself. So patrols, onward and
upward. We helps them what helps themselves. On,
brothers."
"Oh, he's a brother!" shouted the driver in relief
as he turned off the radio. "You catch that 'incident
is a negative'? They coulda used him in Nam, in
those big body-count press conferences.... Come to
think of it, he was probably there not with the
press, just one of the bodies. They never did get it
right."
Valerie leaned forward on the seat. "I asked you
about Nam. About General Delavane. Would you
ted me about him?"
It was nearly a minute before the black replied,
and when he did so, his voice was soft, even
mellifluous. And somewhere at the base of it was
abject defeat. "My driver's identification is lookin' at
you, lady. I'm drivin' you to Newark Air
THE AQUITAINE
PROGRESSION 535
port thaws what you're payin' for, and that's what
you'll
The rest of the ride was made in silence, an
oppressive sense of fear pervading the cab. After all
these years, thought Val. Oh, God
They hit heavy traffic at the tunnel and then on
the turnpike; it was the start of the weekend and
vacationers were heading for the Jersey shore. The
airport was worse; it was jammed, cars backed up for
a quarter of a mile in the departure lanes. Finally
they edged up into a parking space and Valerie got
out. She paid the driver a hundred dollars above the
fare and thanked him. "You've been much more than
helpful, you know that.... I'll never really know why
but I'll think about it."
"Like I said, it's my business. I got my reasons."
"I wish I could say something, something that
could help."
"Don't try, lady. The green is enough."
"No, it's not."
"Sure, it is until something better comes along,
and that ain't gonna be in my lifetime.... You take
care, missus. I think you got bigger problems than
most of us. You said too much, which I don't recall,
of course."
Valerie turned and went into the terminal. The
lines in front of the counters were horrendous, and
before joining one she had to know which one.
Twenty minutes later she was in the proper line and
nearly an hour after that she had a ticket to Las
Vegas on American's 12:30 flight, another hour
before boarding. It was time to see if it all made
sense. If Sam Abbott made sense, or whether she
was grasping desperately at a man she once
remembered who might not be that man any longer.
She had exchanged $20 in bills for two $10 rolls of
quarters. She hoped it would be enough. She took an
escalator up to the second floor and went to a
telephone at the far end of the wide corridor past
the shops. Nevada information gave her the number
of the main switchboard at Nellis Air Force Base.
She dialed and asked to be put through to Brigadier
General Samuel Abbott.
"I don't know if he's on the base yet," said the
operator.
"Oh?" she had forgotten. There was a three-hour
time difference.
"Just a minute, he's checked in. Early-morning
flight schedule."
536 ROBERT LUDLUM
"General Abbott's office."
'May I speak to the general, please. The name
is Parquette, Mrs. Virginia Parquette."
"May I ask what this is in reference to?" asked
the secretary. "The general's extremely busy and is
about to head down to the field."
"I'm a cousin he hasn't seen in a long time,
actually. There's been a tragedy in the family."
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry."
"Please tell him I'm on the line. He may not
recall my name; it's been so many years. But you
might remind him that in the old days we had some
wonderful dinners in New York. It's really most
urgent. I wish someone else were making this call,
but I'm afraid I was elected."
"Yes yes, of course."
The waiting put Valerie in the last circle of hell.
Finally there was a click, followed by the voice she
remembered.
"Virginia . . . Parquette?"
"Yes."
"Ginny from New York? Dinner in New York?"
"Yes."
"You're the wife, not the sister."
"Yes!"
"Give me a number. I'll call you back in ten
minutes."
"It's a pay phone."
"Stay there. The number."
She gave it to him and hung up, frightened,
wondering what she had done, but knowing that she
could not have done anything else. She sat in the
plastic chair by the phone, watching the escalators,
looking at the people going in and out of the
various shops, the bar, the fast-food restaurant. She
tried not to look at her watch; twelve minutes
passed. The phone rang.
"Yes?"
"Valerie?"
"Yes!"
"I wanted to get out of the office too many
interruptions. Where are you? I know the area
code's New Jersey."
"Newark Airport. I'm on the twelve-thirty flight
to Las Vegas. I've got to see you!"
"I tried to call you. Talbot's secretary gave me
your number "
"When?"
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 537
'~Starting two days ago. I was in the Mojave on
maneuvers and too bushed to turn on a radio we
didn't have newspapers. A man answered, and when
he said you weren't there I hung up."
"That was Roger, Joel's father. He's dead."
"I know. They say it was most likely suicide."
"No!. . . I've seen him, Sam. I've seen Joel! It's all
lies!"
"That's what we have to talk about," said the
general. "Call me when you get in. Same name. I
don't want to pick you up at the airport; too many
people know me over there. I'll figure out a place
where we can meet."
"Thank you, Sam!" said Valerie. "You're all we have
left."
"We?"
"For the time being, yes. I'm all he has left."
Converse watched from the far dark corner of
the railroad station as the train for Osnabruck
started up, its huge wheels pressing into the tracks,
groaning for momentum. At any moment he
expected whistles to pierce the quiet night and the
train to stop, a bewildered half-drunken guard run-
ning from the freight car, screaming. None of it
happened. Why? Was the man more than half
drunk? Had the sounds of the enraged animals
driven him further into the bottle strengthening his
resolve to remain in the safety of his cage? Had he
seen only a blur racing to the door in the dim light,
or perhaps nothing, an unconscious body
subsequently not discovered? Then Joel saw that
there was another possibility a brutal one. He could
see a figure running forward through the second to
last car, twice lunging between the seats, his face
pressed against the glass. Moments later the man was
leaning out above the lower door of the first exit, the
steps below blocked off by the heavy solid gate. In
his hand was a gun, held laterally across his forehead
as he squinted against the station lights, peering into
the shadows.
Suddenly the killer made his decision. He gripped
the metal rim and leaped over the guardrail,
dropping to the ground, rolling over in the gravel
away from the gathering speed of the train. The
hunter from Aquitaine was in panic he dared not
lose the quarry, dared not fail to carry out his
assignment.
Converse spun around the corner and raced
along the dark side of the building to a parking area.
The passengers who had gotten off the train were
starting their automobiles
538 ROBERT LUDLUM
or climbing into them; two couples were chatting on
the near platform, obviously waiting to be picked
up. A car came curving in off the road beyond; the
men waved, and in moments all four were inside,
laughing as the car sped away. The parking area was
deserted, the station shut down for the night. A
single floodlight from the roof illuminated the
emptiness, a border of tall trees beyond the wide
expanse of coarse gravel gave the appearance of an
immense impenetrable wall.
Staying as best he could in the shadows, Joel
darted from one space of darkness to another until
he reached a solid, indented arch at the end of the
building. He pressed his back against the brick and
waited, his hand gripping the gun at his side,
wondering if he would have to use it, if he would
even have a chance to use it. He had been lucky on
the train and he knew it; he was no match for
professional killers. And no matter how strongly he
tried to convince himself, he was not in the jungles
a lifetime ago, not the younger man he had been
then. But when he thought about it as he was
thinking about it now those memories were all he
had to guide him. He ducked out of the shadowed
arch and quickly dashed to the corner.
The explosion came, blowing out the stone to
the left of his head! He lunged to his right, rolling
on the gravel, then quickly rose to get away from
the spill of the floodlight. Three more shattering
explosions tore up the rock and earth around his
feet. He reached a dark row of foliage and dove
into the bushes, instinctively knowing exactly what
he had to do.
"Augh!Aughhh . . . !" His final scream ended on
a convincing note of agony.
He then crawled through the underbrush as fast
as he could penetrate the tangled nets of prickly
green. He was at least ten feet away from where he