Robert Ludlum - Aquatain Progression.txt

by The Aquitaine Progression [lit]

  Stone had thought, but had instantly changed his

  mind. Who could be less suspect?

  The fourth surprise came at the Manchester

  airport. An ebullient, middle-aged redheaded man

  had greeted him as though they were long-lost

  fraternity brothers from some Midwestern university

  in the late thirties, when such fraternal ties were

  deemed far deeper than blood. He was effusive to

  the point where Stone was not only embarrassed by

  the display of camaraderie but seriously concerned

  that unwarranted attention would be drawn to them.

  But once in the parking lot, the redhead had

  suddenly slammed him into the doorframe of the

  car and shoved the barrel of a gun into the back of

  his neck while the man's free hand stabbed his

  clothes for a weapon.

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 641

  "I wouldn't take the risk of going through metal

  detectors with a gun, damn it!" protested the ex-CIA

  agent.

  "Just making sure, spook. I've dealt with you

  assholes, you think you're something else. Me, I was

  Federal."

  "Which explains a great deal, ' said Stone, meaning

  it.

  "You drive.

  "Is that a question or an order?"

  "An order. All spooks drive," replied the redhead.

  Surprise number five came in the car as Stone

  took the sudden turns commanded by the redheaded

  man, who casually replaced the gun in his jacket

  holster.

  "Sorry about the horseshit," he had said in a voice

  far less hostile than it had been in the parking lot,

  but nowhere near the false ebullience in the

  terminal. "I had to be careful, piss you off, see where

  you stood, you know what I mean? And I was never

  Federal I hated those turkeys. They always wanted

  you to know they were better than you were just be-

  cause they came from D.C. I was a cop in Cleveland,

  name's Gary Frazier. How are you?"

  "Somewhat more comfortable," Stone had said.

  "Where are we going?"

  "Sorry, pal. If he wants you to know, he'll tell you."

  Surprise number six awaited Stone when he

  drove the car up through the New Hampshire hills to

  an isolated house of wood and glass, surrounded by

  forests, the structure an inverted V, two narrowing

  stories looking out in all directions on woods and

  water. Nathan Simon had walked down the stone

  steps from the front door.

  "You've brought it?" he asked.

  "Here it is," said Stone, handing the attache case

  to the lawyer through the open window. "Where are

  we? Who are you seeing?"

  "It's an unlisted residence, but if everything is in

  order we'll call you. There are guest quarters

  attached to the boathouse down at the lake. Why not

  freshen up after your trip? The driver will point the

  way. If we need you for anything we'll ring you on

  the phone. It's a separate number from the house, so

  just pick it up."

  And now Peter Stone was walking down the wide

  dirt path that led to the boathouse by the lake,

  aware that eyes were following him. Surprise number

  six: be had no idea where he was and Simon wasn't

  going to tell him unless "everything was in order,"

  whatever that meant.

  642 ROBERT LUDLUM

  The guest quarters alluded to by the attorney

  was a three-room cottage on the edge of the lake

  with an entrance to the adjacent boathouse, in

  which was berthed a small sleek motorboat and a

  nondescript catamaran that looked more like a raft

  with two canvas seats and fishing equipment for

  drift trawling. Stone wandered about trying to find

  some clue as to the owner's identity but there was

  nothing. Even the names on the boats were

  meaningless, but not lacking in humor.The

  cumbersome, raftlike sail was named Hawk while

  the aggressive-looking little speedboat was Dove.

  The former deep-cover intelligence officer sat

  on the porch and looked out at the peaceful waters

  of the lake and the rolling, darkening green hills of

  New Hampshire. Everything was peaceful. Even the

  cries of the loons seemed to proclaim the

  permanence of tranquility in this special place. But

  Stone's insides were not peaceful; his stomach

  churned and he remembered what Johnny Reb used

  to say in the field. "Trust the stomach, Brer Rabbit,

  trust the bile. They never lie." He wondered what

  the Rebel was doing, what he was learning.

  The phone inside the cottage rang, accompanied

  by a strident, unnerving clanging of the porch bell.

  As if jolted by an electric prod, Stone sprang from

  the chair, swung back the door and walked rapidly

  across the room to the telephone.

  "Come up to the house, please," said Nathan

  Simon, adding, "If you were out on the porch, I

  apologise for not telling you about that damned

  bell."

  "I accept your apology. I was."

  "It's for guests who expect calls and may be out

  in one of the boats."

  "The loons are quiet. I'll be right there."

  Stone walked up the dirt path and saw the

  lawyer standing by a screen door that was the

  lake-side entrance to the house; it was on a patio

  reached by curving brick steps. He started climbing,

  prepared for surprise number seven.

  Supreme Court Justice Andrew Wellfleet, his

  thinning unkempt white hair falling in strands over

  his wide forehead, sat behind the large desk in his

  library. Converse's thick affidavit was in front of

  hirn, and a floor lamp on his left threw light on the

  pages. It was several moments before he looked up

  and removed his steel-rimmed glasses. His eyes

  were stern and disapproving, matching the

  nickname given him over two decades ago when he

  was summoned to the Court. "Iras

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 643

  cibleAndy" was the sobriquet the clerks had given

  him, but no one ever questioned his awesome

  intelligence, his fairness or his devotion to the law.

  All things considered, surprise number seven was as

  welcome a shock as Stone could imagine.

  "Have you read this?' asked Wellfleet, offering

  neither his hand nor a chair.

  "Yes, sir," replied Stone. "On the plane. It's

  essentially what he told me over the phone, in far

  greater detail, of course. The affidavit from the

  Frenchman, Prudhomme, was a bonus. It tells us how

  they operate how they re capable

  of operating."

  "And what in hell did you think you were going to

  do with all of this?" The elderly justice waved his

  hand over the desk, on which were scattered the

  other, affidavits. "Petition the courts here and in

  Europe to please, if they'd be so kind, to issue

  injunctions restricting the activities of all military per-

  sonnel above a certain rank on the conceivable

  possibility that they may be part of this?"
/>   "I'm not a lawyer, sir, the courts never entered my

  mind. But I did think that once we had Converse's

  own words along with what we knew they'd be

  sufficient to reach the right people in the highest

  places who could do something. Obviously, Converse

  thought the same thing insofar as he called in Mr.

  Simon, and if you'll forgive me, Mr. Justice, you're

  reading it all now."

  "It isn't enough," said the Supreme Court justice.

  "And damn the courts, I shouldn't have to tell you

  that, Mr. Former CIA Man. You need names, a lot

  more names, not just five generals, three of whom are

  retired and one of them, the so-called instigator, a

  man who had an operation several months ago that

  left him without legs."

  "Delavane?" asked Simon, stepping away from the

  window.

  "That's right," said Wellfleet. "Kind of pathetic,

  huh? Not exactly the picture of a very imposing

  threat, is he?"

  "It could drive him into being an extraordinary

  threat."

  "I'm not denying that, Nate. I'm just looking at the

  collection you've got here. Abrahms? As anyone

  worth his kosher salt in Israel will tell you, he's a

  strutting, bombastic hothead a brilliant soldier but

  with ten screws loose. Besides his only real concerns

  are for Israel. Van Headmer? He's a relic of the

  nineteenth century, pretty fast with a hangman's

  644 ROBERT LUDLUM

  rope but his voice doesn't mean doodlly-shit outside

  of South Africa."

  "Mr. Justice," said Stone, speaking more firmly

  than he had before, 'are you implying that we're

  wrong? Because if you are, there are other

  names and I don't just mean a couple of attaches

  at the embassy in Bonn names of men who have

  been killed because they tried to find answers."

  "You weren't listening!" snapped Wellfleet. "I

  just told Nate I wasn't denying anything. How in

  hell could I? Forty-five million in untraceable, illegal

  exports! An apparatus that can shape the news

  media here and in Europe, that can corrupt

  government agencies, and as Nate here puts it

  'create a psychopathic assassin' so they can find you,

  or make you back down.. Oh, no, mister, I'm not

  saying you're wrong. I'm saying you better damn

  well do what I'm told you're pretty good at, and

  you'd better do it quickly. Haul in this Washburn

  and any others you can find in Bonn; pick a cross

  section of those people at State and the Pentagon

  and fill 'em full of dope or whatever the hell you

  use and get names! And if you ever mention that I

  suggested such wanton measures that violate our

  most sacred human rights, I'll say you're full of shit.

  Talk to Nate here. You don't have time for niceties

  mister."

  "We don't have the resources, either," said

  Stone. "As I explained to Mr. Simon, there are a

  few friends I can call upon for information but

  nothing like what you suggest like what you didn't

  suggest. I simply don't have the leverage, the men

  or the equipment. I'm not even employed by the

  government any longer."

  "I can help you there." Wellfleet made a note.

  "You'll get whatever you need."

  "There's the other problem," continued Stone.

  "No matter how careful we are, we'd send out

  alarms. These people are believers, notjust mindless

  extremists. They're orchestrated; they have lines of

  fullbacks and know exactly what they're doing. It's

  a progression, a logical capitalising on sequences

  until we're all forced to accept them or accept the

  unacceptable, the continuation of violence, of

  wholesale rioting, of the killing."

  "Very nice, mister. And what are you going to do?

  Noth

  "Of course not. Rightly or wrongly, I believed

  Converse when he told me that with our

  affidavits with all the evi

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 645

  dencewe provided him Mr. Simon could reach

  people we couldn't reach. Why shouldn't I have

  believed him? It was an extension of my own

  thinking without a Nathan Simon but with Converse

  himself. Only, my way would take longer. The

  precautions would be far more elaborate, but it could

  be done. We'd reach the right people and start the

  counterattack."

  'Who'd you have in mind?" asked Wellfleet sharply.

  ' The President first, obviously. Then, because

  we're dealing with half a dozen other countries, the

  Secretary of State. A maximum-security screening

  process would be set up immediately one

  undoubtedly using those chemicals you didn't speak

  of until we had unblemished personnel, men and

  women we were certain beyond doubt had no

  connections to this Aquitaine. We create cells,

  command posts here and abroad. Incidentally, there's

  a man who can help us immeasurably in this, a man

  named Belamy in Britain's M.1.6. I've worked with

  him and he's the best knows the best and he's

  done this sort of thing before. Once our cells are in

  place and in deep cover, we then pull in Washburn

  and at least two others we know of by description in

  Bonn. Prudhomme can furnish us with the names of

  those in the Surete who approve transfers, and who

  furnished evidence against Converse when it didn't

  exist. And as you know from my own affidavit, we've

  got the island of Scharhdrn under surveillance

  now we think it's a nerve confer or a

  communications relay. With the proper equipment

  we could tap in. The whole point is we widen the

  circles of information. Once you know a strategy, you

  can mount a counterstrategy without setting off

  alarms." Stone paused and looked at both men. "Mr.

  Justice, Mr. Simon. I was station chief in five vital

  posts in Great Britain and the Continent. I know it

  can be done."

  "I don't doubt you," said Nathan Simon. "How

  long would it take?"

  "If Justice Wellfleet can get me the cooperation

  and the equipment I need, with the people I

  select here and abroad Derek Belamy and I can

  mount a crash program. We'd be operational in eight

  to ten days."

  Simon looked at the Supreme Court justice then

  back at Stone. "We don't have eight or ten days," he

  said. "We have three less than three days now."

  Peter Stone stared at the tall, portly attorney with

  the

  646 ROBERT LUDLUM

  sad, penetrating eyes. He could feel the blood

  draining from his face.

  The cry of the cat was muted in fury. General

  Ceorge Marcus Delavane slowly replaced the

  telephone on the console. His half-body was

  propped into the wheelchair, his waist strapped to

  the steel poles, his arms as heavy as his breath was

  short, the veins in his neck distended. He brought

  his hands together, entwining his fingers and

  pressing the knuckles ag
ainst each other until the

  surrounding flesh was white. He raised his large

  head, his cold, angry eyes narrowing as he looked

  up at the uniformed aide standing in front of the

  desk.

  "They've disappeared," he said, his high-pitched

  voice icily controlled. "Leifhelm was taken from a

  restaurant in Bonn. They say there was an

  ambulance that raced away, no one knows where.

  Abrahms'guards were drugged. Others took their

  places. He was driven offin his own staffcar, picked

  up in front of a synagogue. Bertholdier did not

  come down from his apartment on the Montaigne,

  so the driver went up to discreetly remind him of

  the time. The woman was bound naked on the bed,

  the word 'whore' written in lipstick across her

  breasts. She said two men took him away at

  gunpoint. There was talk of a plane, she said."

  "What about Van Headmer?" asked the aide.

  "Nothing. Our charming and oblivious Afrikaner

  dines at the Johannesburg Military Club and says he

  will put himself under extra guard. He's not part of

  the orbit; he's too far away to matter."

  "What do you mean, General? What happened?"

  "What happened? This Converse happened! We

  created our own most accomplished enemy,

  Colonel and I can't say we weren't warned. Chaim

  said it, our man in the Mossad made it clear. The

  North Vietnamese created a hellhound the

  Mossad's words and we created a monster. He

  should have been killed in Paris, certainly in Bonn."

  "You couldn t have ordered it then," said the

  aide, shaking his head. "You had to know where he

  came from, and if you couldn't find out, you had to

  isolate him, make him what was it.P_a pariah, so