Robert Ludlum - Aquatain Progression.txt

by The Aquitaine Progression [lit]

  between buildings 2 and 3, counting from the right.

  It was a connecting cement path with gradually rising

  steps on the left. He reached the open space and

  stood up.

  Suddenly he snapped his fingers once not very

  loud but loud enough. Everyone froze where he was

  under the field of intersecting alarm beams.

  Converse turned his head on the ground to try to see

  what was happening. The German was crouched in

  the shadows as a man came into view, a guard with

  a rifle slung over his shoulder. Aware of another

  presence, the guard whipped his head around; the

  German lunged out of the shadows, his long-bladed

  knife arcing in midair toward the man's head. Joel

  closed his eyes, the sound of savagely expunged air

  telling him more than he cared to know.

  The movement began again, and again, one by

  one, each member of the unit reached the path.

  Converse was soaked with sweat. He looked at the

  row of U-boat slips ahead and the sea beyond them

  and wished to God he could fall into the water. The

  Rebel touched his elbow, indicating that Joel should

  take out his gun as the Southerner had done. It was

  now Johnny Reb who took the lead; he crept out to

  the front of building 2 and turned right, crouching

  close to the ground, heading toward the lighted

  windows. His fingers snapped; all movement stopped,

  bodies now prone. Diagonally to the left, by the edge

  of a giant slip were the glow of cigarettes and the

  sound of men talking quietly three men, guards

  with rifles.

  As if they had been given an order, three of the

  five men hired by the Rebel which ones Converse

  could not tell broke away and started crawling in a

  wide arc toward

  686 ROBERT LUDIUM

  the opposite side of the old U-boat berth.

  Approximately a minute and a half later the

  longest ninety secondsJoel could remember a

  barrage of muted reports punctured the night

  breezes off the sea. The subsequent sounds were

  minimal as hands clutched at heads and bodies

  snapped before falling to the concrete ground. The

  hired guns returned and Johnny Reb waved them

  forward, with Converse forced to be the last as men

  grabbed his shoulders and passed him. They

  reached the only lighted window in building 2; the

  Rebel stood up and inched his way to the glass. He

  turned and shook his head; the unit proceeded.

  They came to the open space between buildings

  1 and 2. Cautiously each man ran across, crouching

  the instant he reached the opposite edge and then

  racing ahead. It was Joel's turn; he got to his knees,

  then to his feet.

  "Horst? Bist das au?" said a man harshly, walking

  out of a door and up the cement path.

  Converse stood motionless. The rest of the unit

  was well past the edge of building 1 as the sounds

  of the North Sea crashing on the rocks in the

  distance blocked out the intruder's voice. Joel tried

  not to panic. He was alone, and if he panicked, he

  could blow the operation apart, destroy the complex

  at Scharhorn, killing everyone, including Connal

  Fitzpatrick, if, indeed, the young commander was

  there.

  "Ja, " he heard himself saying as he turned away

  into the shadows, his right hand reaching across his

  waist for the hunting knife. He could not trust his

  gun in the darkness

  "Warten Sie einen Augen/,lick! Sin sind nicht Horst'"

  Joel shrugged, and waited. The footsteps

  approached, a hand grabbed his shoulder. He spun

  around, gripping the handle of the knife with such

  force that it nearly blocked out the terrible thing his

  mind told him he had to do. He grabbed the man's

  hair and brought the razor-sharp blade across the

  throat.

  Wanting to vomit, he pulled the man into the

  darker shadows; the head was all but severed from

  the body. He raced across the open space and

  caught up with the others No one had missed him;

  each man was taking his turn peering into one of

  the four lighted windows in a row. Johnny Reb was

  beyond the first, successively pointing in different

  directions firmly, rapidly, and each man, after a

  crisp nod, ducked away. An assault was about to be

  immediately executed. Converse raised himself to

  the edge of the last window and looked in

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 687

  side. Instantly he understood why the Rebel had to

  act quickly. There were ten guards in what could only

  be described as paramilitary uniforms belonging to

  no recognisable army. Each was either strapping on

  a weapon, looking at his watch or crushing out a

  cigarette. Then, more ominously, they checked the

  ammunition clips in their rifles and automatics.

  Several laughed, raising their voices as if making

  demands at the expense of the others. Joel could not

  understand the words. He moved away from the

  window and confronted Johnny Reb, who was close

  to the ground.

  'It's a patrol going out, isn't it?" whispered Converse.

  "No, son," replied the Southerner. ' It s a firing

  squad. They just got their orders."

  "My God!''

  "We follow them, staying low and out of sight.

  You may find your old buddy Fitzpatrick, after all."

  The next minutes were straight out of Kafka,

  thought Joel. The ten men lined up and walked out

  the door leading to building 2. Suddenly floodlights

  blazed throughout the parade ground, the trip lights

  obviously turned off as the squad walked out on the

  concrete. Two men with automatics in their hands

  ran to building 4; they unlocked and then unbolted

  the heavy door, and raced inside shouting orders as

  lights were turned on.

  "Alles auistehen! 'Raus! Mach schnell! Schnell!"

  Seconds later, gaunt, manacled figures began

  straggling out in their ragged clothes, blinking at the

  harsh lights, some barely able to walk and supported

  by others who were stronger. Ten, twenty,

  twenty-five, thirty-two, forty. . . forty-three.

  Forty-three prisoners of Aquitaine about to be

  executed! They were marched toward the concrete

  wall fronting the platform at the far end of the

  parade ground.

  It happened with the hysterical force of a crowd

  gone mad! The condemned men suddenly bolted in

  all directions, those nearest the two guards with the

  automatics crashing the chains of their manacled

  hands into the stunned faces. Shots rang out, three

  prisoners fell and writhed on the ground. The firing

  squad raised their rifles.

  "Now, you mother-lovin' catfish hunters!" shouted

  Johnny Reb as the entire Scharhorn unit raced into

  the melee, pistols firing, muted spits mingling with

  the ear-shattenng explosions of the unsilenced

  weapons.

  It was over in less than twenty seconds. The te
n men

  of

  688 ROBERT LUDLUM

  Aquitaine lay on the ground. Six were dead, three

  wounded, one on his knees trembling with fear. Two

  men of the Scharhorn unit sustained minor

  wounds the American pilot and one other.

  "Connal!" roared Joel, racing about the scattered

  prisoners, relieved that most were moving.

  "Fitzpatrick! Where the hell are you? '

  'Over here, Lieutenant," said a weak voice on

  Converse's right. Joel threaded his way through the

  fallen bodies and knelt down beside the frail,

  bearded Navy lawyer. "You took your sweet time

  getting here,' continued the commander. "But then

  junior-grade officers usually have deficiencies."

  "What happened back there?' asked Converse.

  "You could all have been killed!

  'That was the point, wasn t it? It was made clear

  to us last night, so we figured what the hell?'

  "But why you? Why all of you?

  'We talked and we couldn t figure it out. Except

  one thing we were all senior officers on thirty- to

  forty-day leaves, most of them summer leaves. What

  did it mean? '

  "It was meant to throw people off if they began

  to see a pattern. There are ninety-seven men out in

  hit teams all on summer leaves. Numerically you

  were nearly fifty percent of that number,

  presumably above suspicion. You were a bonus and

  it saved your life."

  Suddenly Connal whipped his head to the left.

  A man was running out of building 5, racing down

  the concrete path "That's the warden! 'shouted

  Fitzpatrick as loud as he could "Stop him! If he gets

  into the second barracks he ll blow the whole place

  up!

  Joel got to his feet and, gun in hand, started

  after the racing figure as fast as his painful legs

  would carry him. The man had reached the

  midpoint of building 3; he had less than thirty yards

  to go to the door of 2. Converse fired, the bullet

  was way off its mark, ricocheting off a steel window

  frame. The man reached the door, smashed it open

  and slammed it shut Joel raced to it and crashed the

  full weight of his body into the heavy wood. It gave

  way, swinging violently back into the wall. The man

  was running to a metal-encased panel, Converse

  fired wildly, frantically, again and again. The man

  spun wounded in the legs, but he had opened the

  panel. He reached up for a bank of switches. Joel

  lunged, gripping the man s hand, smashing his head

  against the stone floor.

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 689

  Gasping for breath, Converse crawled away from

  the man, his hands covered with warm blood, his

  empty pistol on the floor. One of the Scharhorn team

  burst through the door. "Are you fine?" he asked in

  an accent Joel could not place.

  "Splendid," said Converse, feeling weak and sick.

  The hired gun walked past Joel and glanced at

  the still figure on the floor on his way to the open

  panel. He studied it and reached into his pocket for

  some kind of small, multifaceted tool. In seconds he

  was taking out screws and pulling off the interior

  metal plating. Moments later, with another part of

  the instrument he was cutting wires far back into

  their receptacles, leaving nothing but stubs of copper.

  "You are not to worry," said the man, finished. "I

  am best of Norwegian demolitions. Now we do not

  concern ourselves that a stray pig can do damage.

  Come, there is much work left to do." The team

  member stopped and stood above Converse. "We

  owe you our lives. We will pay."

  "It's not necessary," said Joel, getting up.

  "It is the custom," replied the man, heading for the

  door.

  Out on the parade ground, Aquitaine's prisoners

  were sitting up against the wall all but five, whose

  bodies were covered with sheets. Converse went over

  to Fitzpatrick.

  "We lost them," said the naval officer, with no

  strength in his voice.

  "Look to the things you believe in, Connal," said

  Joel. "It may sound banal, but it's the only thing I

  can think of to say."

  "It's good enough." Fitzpatrick looked up, a wan

  smile on his lips. "Thanks for reminding me. Go on.

  They need you over there."

  "Larson!" shouted Johnny Reb, standing above

  the trembling unhurt guard. "Get in here!"

  The professorial Englishman walked hesitantly

  through the steel door at the base of the airstrip into

  the floodlights. He came over to the Rebel, his eyes

  wandering about the parade ground, his expression

  one of consternation and awe. "Good Cod!" he

  uttered.

  "I guess that says it," said the Southerner as two

  members of the Scharhorn team came running out of

  building 5. "What'd you find ?" yelled Johnny Reb.

  "Seven others!" shouted one of the men. "They're

  in a toilet, which is suitable to their conditions!"

  "I say!" said Ceoffrey Larson, raising his voice.

  "Would any by chance be the computer chap?"

  690 ROBERT LUDLUM

  "We did not ask!"

  "Go ask!" ordered the Rebel. "Time's run out!"

  He turned to Converse. 'I've been in touch with

  your lady. The word out of Israel and Rome is

  downright awful some of the hit teams eluded

  Stone's men. The demonstrations began an hour

  ago, and already twelve government people have

  been killed. In Jerusalem and Tel Aviv they're

  screaming for Abrahms to take over. In Rome the

  police can't handle the riots and the panic; the

  Army's moved in."

  Joel felt the sharp, hollow pain in his lower

  chest and for the first time noticed the early light in

  the sky beyond the walls. The day had come, and so

  had the killing. Everywhere. "Oh, Jesus, " he said.

  "The computer, boy!" roared Johnny Reb, his

  pistol jammed into the temple of the guard beneath

  him. "You don't have any choices left, catfish!"

  "Baracke pier!"

  "Danke! It's in building four. Come on, Brit, let's

  go! Move!"

  The enormous, glistening machine covering the

  length of the fifteen-foot wall stood in an air-filtered

  room. With Joel's note pad in front of him, Larson

  spent nine agonising minutes studying it, turning

  dials, punching the keyboard and flipping switches

  on the console. Finally he announced "There's a

  lock on the inner reels. They can't be released

  without an access code."

  "What in goddamned catfish hell are you talkie'

  about!" screamed the Rebel.

  "There's a predesigned set of symbols that when

  inserted releases the springs that permit the locked

  reels to be activated. It's why I asked if there was a

  computer man about."

  Johnny Reb's radio hummed, and Converse

  ripped it off the Southerner's Velcroed chest.

  "Cal?"

  "Darling! You're all right?"

  "Yes. What's happe
ning?"

  "Radio-France. Bombs set off in the Elysee

  Palace. Two deputies were shot riding to the dawn

  rallies. The government's calling in the armed

  forces."

  "Christ! Out!"

  A man was brought into the room by two

  members of the Scharhorn team, who were gripping

  him by the arms. "He did not care to admit his

  function," said the hired gun on the

  THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 691

  left. "But when all were against the wall, the others

  were not so secretive."

  The Rebel went to the man and grabbed him by

  the throat, but Joel, with the hunting knife in his

  hand, rushed forward, pushing the Southerner aside.

  "I've been through a lot because of you bastards,"

  he said, raising the bloodstained blade to the man s

  nose. "And now it's the end!" He shoved the point

  into the man's nostrils; the computer expert

  screamed as blood erupted and streamed down.

  Then Converse raised the blade again, the point now

  in the corner of the man's right eye. "The codes, or

  it goes inl" he roared.

  "Zwei Bins, null, elf!" Again the technician screamed.

  "Process it!" yelled Joel.

  "They'refree!" said the Englishman.

  "Now the symbols!' cried Converse, shoving the

  man back into the hands of the Scharhorn invaders.

  They all looked in astonishment at the green

  letters on the black television screen. Name after

  name, rank after rank, position after position. Larson

  had punched the printout button, and the curling,

  continuous sheet of paper spewed out with hundreds