Robert Ludlum - Aquatain Progression.txt

by The Aquitaine Progression [lit]

  that number in the Scottish islands, just as the KGB

  calls processed through Canada's Prince Edward

  disappeared, and the Company's communications

  routed through Key West could not be traced.

  Belamy! The man whose face never appeared in

  any publication film was destroyed instantly by

  aides if he was even in the background of a

  photograph. The most guarded operations of ficer in

  England, with access to secrets culled over decades

  and scores of devices created by the best minds of

  M.I.6. And yet, was it possible? Derek Belamy, the

  quiet good-humored chess player, the friend who

  gave good whisky and a fine ear to an American

  colleague who had progressively had serious doubts

  about his calling in life. The betterfriend for having

  the wisdom and the courage to warn his cotleague

  that he was drinking too much, that perhaps he

  should take a sabbatical, and if money was a

  problem, surely some sort of quiet consultation

  agreement could be worked out with his own

  organization. Was it possible, this decent man this

  friend ?

  Stone reached the door in the hallway marked

  simply by the number 14, OCCUPIED. He walked

  inside the small room and went to the desk and the

  telephone. He did not sit down; his anxiety would

  not permit it. He picked up the phone and dialed

  the White House switchboard as he took out the slip

  of paper in his pocket with Converse's number

  somewhere in France. He gave it to the operator,

  adding simply, "This

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 673

  should be scrambled. I'm talking from Strategy

  Fourteen confirm by trace. '

  "Trace confirmed, sir. Scrambler will be in

  operation. Shall I call you back?"

  "No, thanks, I'll stay on the line." Stone remained

  standing as he heard the hollow echo of numbers

  being punched and the faint hum of the scrambling

  machine. And then he heard the sound of a door

  opening. He turned.

  ' Put the phone down, Peter," said Derek Belamy

  quietly as he shut the door. "There's no point to

  this."

  "It is you, isn't it?" Stone slowly, awkwardly

  replaced the phone in its cradle.

  "Yes, it is. And I want everything you want, my

  old friend. Neither of us could deny ourselves the

  parting shots, could we? I said I was visiting friends

  in Scotland and you said you thought I was in

  Ireland. We've learned over the years haven't we?

  The eyes don't lie. Scotland calls to the Hebrides;

  the glass fell over your eyes. And earlier, when that

  face came on the screen, you looked across the Esle

  a bit too obviously, I thmk.

  "Dobbins. He worked for you."

  "You wrote frantically on your pad, yet you said

  nothing.'

  "I was waiting for you to say something."

  "Yes, of course, but I couldn't, could 1?"

  "Why, Derek? For Christ's sake, why?"

  "Because it's right and you know it."

  "I don't know it! You're a sane, reasonable man.

  They're not!"

  "They'll be replaced, naturally. How often have

  you and I used drones we couldn't abide because

  their contributions were necessary to the objectives"

  "What objective? An international totalitarian

  alliance? A military state without borders? All of us

  robots marching to the drums of fanatics?"

  "Oh, come off it, Peter. Spare us both the liberal

  drivel. You left this business once, drinking yourself

  into a stupor because of the waste, the futility, the

  deceits we all practiced the people we killed to

  maintain what we laughingly called the status quo.

  What status quo, old man? To be continuously

  harassed by our inferiors the world over? To be held

  hostage by screaming mullahs and hysterical fools

  who still live in the Dark Ages and would cut our

  throats over the price of a barrel of oil? To be

  manipulated at every turn by Soviet

  674 ROBERT LUDLUM

  deceptions? No, Peter, there really is a better way.

  The means may be distasteful, but the end result is

  not only desirable, it's also honorable."

  'Whose definition? George Marcus Delavane's?

  Erich Leifhelm's? Chaim ".

  They'll be replaced!'.

  They can't be!" shouted Stone. Once it starts,

  you can't stop it. The image becomes the reality. It's

  expected, de manded! To deviate is to be accused, to

  oppose is to be ostracized, penalized! It's lockstep

  and lockjaw, and you damn well know that!"

  The telephone rang.

  "Let it ring," ordered the man from M.1.6.

  "It doesn't matter now. You were the

  Englishman at Leifhelm's house in Bonn. A brief

  description of you would have confirmed it for me."

  'That's Converse?" The phone rang again.

  "Would you like to talk to him? I understand

  he's quite a lawyer, although he broke a

  fundamental rule he took himself on as a client.

  He's coming out, Derek, and he's going after you,

  all of you. We all are after all of you."

  "You won't!" cried Belamy. 'You can't! As you

  yourself put it, once it starts you can't stop it!"

  Without the slightest indication that he was

  about to move, the Englishman suddenly lunged at

  Stone, the three middle fingers of his right hand

  rigid, zeroing in like steel projectiles on the CIA

  man's throat. Stone took the agonizing blow, gasping

  for air as the room spiraled out of his vision, a

  thousand dazzling spots of white light flashing in his

  eyes. He could hear the door opening and closing as

  the phone insistently rang again. But Peter could

  not see it. the white lights had turned into darkness.

  The ringing stopped as Stone wildly, blindly

  careened around the room, trying to trace the bell

  trying to find the phone. The minutes passed in

  madness as he smashed into walls and fell over the

  desk. Then the door crashed open and Colonel Alan

  Metcalf rushed in.

  "Stone! What ha opened ?'' Racing to Peter, the

  Air Force officer instantly recognised the effects of

  the judo chop. He began massaging Stone's throat,

  pressing his knee into the CIA man's stomach to

  force up air. The switchboard reached us, saying

  that room fourteen had placed a scrambler call but

  didn't pick up. Christ, who was it?"

  Vague images came back to Stone, but still he could

  not

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 675

  speak; he was capable only of gasping coughs. He

  writhed under MetcalEs strong hands, pointing to a

  note pad that had fallen from the desk. The colonel

  understood; he reached for it and yanked out a

  ball-point pen from his pocket. He rolled Stone over

  and, placing the pen in his hand, guided the hand to

  the pad.

  Struggling for control, Peter wrote: BELMY.

  STP. AQUTAIN.

  "Oh, my God!" whispered Metcalf, reaching f
or

  the phone and dialing zero. "Operator, this is an

  emergency. Give me Security.... Security? Colonel

  Alan Metcalf talking from Strategy Fourteen.

  Emergency! There's an Englishman named Belamy

  who may still be on the premises trying to leave.

  Stop him! Hold him! Consider him dangerous. And

  get word to the infirmary. Send a doctor to Strategy

  Fourteen. Quickly!"

  The White House staff doctor removed the

  oxygen mask from Stone's face and placed it on the

  desk next to the cylinder. He then gently moved

  Peter's head back in the chair, inserted a tongue

  depressor and peered into the CIA man's throat with

  a pencil light.

  "It was a nasty shot," he said, "but you'll feel

  better in a couple of hours. I'll give you some pills

  for the pain."

  "What's in them?" asked Stone hoarsely.

  "A mild analgesic with some codeine."

  "No thanks, Doctor," said Peter, looking over at

  Metcalf. '51 don't think I like what I see on your

  face."

  "I don't either. Belamy got out. His pass was high

  priority, and he told the East Gate he was needed

  urgently at the British embassy."

  "Goddomn it!"

  "Try not to strain your voice," said the doctor.

  '~Yes, of course," replied Stone. "Thank you

  very much, and now if you'll excuse us." He got out

  of the chair as the doctor picked up his medical bag

  and headed for the door.

  The telephone rang as the door closed. Metcalf

  picked it up. "Yes? Yes it is; he's right here." The

  colonel listened for several moments then turned to

  Stone. "Breakthrough," he said. "All those military

  who were identified have two things in common.

  Each is on a minimum thirty-day summer leave, and

  every request was made five months ago, nearly to

  the day."

  676 ROBERT LUDIUM

  "Thus guaranteeing request-granted status

  because they were first in line," added the CIA man

  with difficulty. "And the plans for the antinuclear

  demonstrations were announced in Sweden six

  months ago."

  "Clockwork," said Metcalf. "To identify and

  neutralize the others we'll send out the word. Every

  officer in half a dozen armies and navies who's

  currently returning from summer leave is to be

  restricted to quarters. There'll be errors but that's

  rough. We can send out the photographs and correct

  them."

  "It's time for Scharhorn." Stone got out of the

  chair, massaging his throat. "And I don't mind

  telling you it scares me to death. A wrong symbol

  and we erase Aquitaine's master list. Worse, a

  wrong move and that whole complex is blown away."

  The CIA man went to the phone.

  "Are you going to call the Rebel?" asked the

  colonel.

  "Converse first. He's working on the codes."

  The three generals of Aquitaine sat stunned,

  staring straight ahead, refusing to look at one

  another. The lights had been turned on, the large

  television screen turned off. Behind each general

  was a man with a gun and concise instructions "If he

  gets up, kill him."

  "You know what I want," said Converse, walking

  in front of the three. "And as you've just seen,

  there's really no reason -why any of you shouldn't

  give it to me. Four little numbers or letters each of

  you has memorized in sequence. Of course if you

  refuse, there's a doctor here who I'm told has a bag

  of magic the same sort of magic you administered

  to me in Bonn What'll it be, gentlemen?"

  Sllence.

  "Four, three, L, one," said Chaim Abrahms,

  looking down at the floor. "They'reilth," he added

  quietly

  "Thank you, General." Joel wrote in a small note

  pad. "You're free to go now. You can get out of the

  chair."

  "Go?" said the Israeli, getting up. "Where9"

  "Wherever you like," replied Converse. "I;m sure

  you'll have no trouble at the airport in Annecy.

  You'll be recog

  General Chaim Abrahms left the room

  accompanied by the Israeli Army captain.

  "Two, M, zero, six," said Erich Leifhelm. "And, if

  you

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 677

  wish, I will submit to the drugs for verification. I will

  not be associated with such treacherous pigs."

  "I want the combination," pressed Joel, writing.

  "And I won't hesitate to send you up into space to

  get it."

  "Inversion," said the German. "Reverse the order

  of the symbols in the second sequence."

  'He's yours, Doctor." Converse nodded to the

  man behind Leifhelm's chair. "We can't take the

  chance of blowing this one."

  General Erich Leifhelm, once the youngest field

  marshal of the Third Reich, got up and walked

  slowly out of the room, followed by the doctor from

  Bonn.

  "You're all unworthy, all blind," said General

  JacquesLouis Bertholdier with imperious calm. "I

  prefer to be shot."

  "I'm sure you would, but no such luck," answered

  Joel. "I don't need you now, and I want to know

  you're back in Paris, where everyone can see you.

  Take him to his room."

  "The room? I thought I was free to leave, or was

  that another lie?"

  "Not at all. Just a matter of logistics you know

  what logishcs are, General. We're a little short of

  transportation and drivers here, so when the doctor's

  finished, I'm lending the three of you a car. You can

  draw straws for who drives."

  "What?"

  "Get him out of here," said Converse, addressing

  a former sergeant major in the French Army once

  stationed at Algiers.

  "Allen, cochon!"

  The door opened, only coincidentally for

  Bertholdier. It was Valerie and she looked at Joel.

  "Stone's on the telephone. He says hurry."

  It was 2:05 A.6f. when the Mystere jet dropped

  out of the night sky and landed at the airstrip eight

  miles from Cuxhaven, West Germany. It taxied to

  the north end of the runway where the stately,

  white-maned figure of Johnny Reb waited by a black

  Mercedes sedan.

  The doors of the plane opened and the short

  steps swung down in place; Converse climbed out,

  taking Valerie's hand as she descended after him.

  Next came the former sergeant major from Algiers,

  followed by a fourth passenger, a slender blond man

  in his mid-forties who wore tortoiseshell glasses.

  678 ROBERT IUDIUM

  They walked away from the aircraft as the pilot

  retracted the steps and closed the automatic doors,

  the twin engines accelerated and the plane swerved

  around heading back toward the maintenance

  hangars. The Rebel came away from the car and

  met them, extending his hand to Joel. "Ah've seen

  your picture here and there and it's a pleasure, sir.

  Frankly, I never thought I'd meet you, leastways not

/>   in this world."

  "There were a number of times I had my doubts

  just how long I'd be here. This is my wife, Valerie."

  "Ah m enchanted, ma'am," said the Southerner,

  bringing Val's hand to his lips as he bowed gallantly.

  And then to Joel: "Your accomplishments have

  astonished some of the best minds in my former

  profession."

  "I hope not too former," interjected Converse.

  'knot at the moment, son."

  "This is Monsieur Lefevre and Dr. Geoffrey

  Larson. Stone said you've been briefed."

  "A pleasure, sir,' exclaimed the Rebel, shaking

  the Frenchman's hand. ' My hat's off to you, to all

  of you for what You did with those three generals.

  Absolutely remarkable!"

  "Such men have enemies," said Lefevre simply.

  ' They are not hard to find and Inspector

  Prudhomme knew that. We are in many places with

  many memories. Let us hope they will be put to rest

  tonight."

  "Let's hope," said the Rebel, turning to the

  fourth passenger. "Dr. Larson, so nice to meet you,

  sir. I understand you know just about everything

  there is to know about every computer ever made."

  "An exaggeration, I'm sure," said the Englishman

  shyly. "But I suspect if it kicks I can make it hum.

  Actually, I was vacationing in Geneva."

  The non sequitur momentarily threw Johnny

  Reb, who could only utter "Sorry about that" as he