Robert Ludlum - The Parcifal Mosaic.txt

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by The Parcifal Mosaic [lit]

"Then maybe Ive given you something to think about. Call it a parting gift

  from a retired enemy."

  "I look for no such gifts," said Rostov coldly. 'Iley're as gratuitous as

  your presence here in Athens."

  "Since you don't approve, go back to Moscow and fight your own fights. Your

  infrastructure doesn't concern me any longer. And unless you've got another

  comic-book weapon up your other sleeve. I suggest you leave."

  "Thaes just it, pyehshkah. Yes, pyehshkah. Pawn'. It Is as you say-an

  infrastructure. Separate sections, indeed, but one entity. There is Rrst

  the KGB; all else follows. A man-or a woman-may gravitate to the Voennaya,

  may even excel in its deepest operations, but flrst he or she must have

  sprung from the KGB. At the very minimum there has to be a Dzerzhinsky

  dossier somewhere. With foreign recruits ies, as you would say, a double

  imperative. Internal protection, of course.

  Havelock sat forward on the bed, confusion joining the anger in his eyes.

  "Say what you're trying to say and say it quickly. Theres a smell about

  you, priyatelf"

  "I suspect there is about all of us, Mikhail Havlf6ek. Our nostrils never

  quite adjust, do they? Perversely, they become sensitive-to variations of

  that basic odor. Like animale

  "Say it"

  TnE PAwrFAL MosAic35

  "nere is no listing for a jenna Karasova or the Anglicized Karas in any

  branch or division of the KGB."

  Havelock stared at the Russian, then suddenly he spun off the bed, gripping

  the sheet and whipping it into the air, obscuring the Russian~s vision. He

  lunged forward, hammering Rostov against the wall beyond the balcony doors.

  He twisted the KGB man clockwise by the wrist and smashed his head into the

  frame of a cheap oil painting as he whipped his right arm around Rostov's

  neck in a hammerlock. "I could kill you for that," he whispered,

  breathless, the muscles of his jaw pulsating against Rostov's bald head.

  "You said I might break your neck. I could do it right nowl",

  "YOU could,- said the Russian, choking. "And you'abe cut down. Either in

  this room or on the street outside."

  "I thought you didn't have anyone in the hotell"

  "I lied. There are three men, two dressed as waiters clown the hallway by

  the elevators, one inside the staircase. Theres no final protection for you

  here in Athens. My people are out there-on the street as well-every doorway

  covered. My instructions are clear: I'm to emerge from. a specific e3it at

  a specific time. Any deviations from either will result in your death. The

  room will be stormed; the cordon around the Arethusa is unbreakable. I'm

  not an idioL"

  "Maybe not, but as you said, you!re an animdl" He roleased the Russian and

  hurled him across the room. "Go back to Moscow and tell them the baies too

  obvious, the stench too rottenl I'm not taking it, pliyatel. Get out of

  herel"

  "No bait," protested Rostov, regaining his balance and holding his throat.

  "Your own argument: what could you really tell us that would be worth the

  risks, or the reprisals, perhaps? Or the uncertainties? Yoere finished.

  Without programming, you could lead us into a hundred traps-a theory that

  has crossed our minds, incidentally. You talk freely and we act on what you

  say, but what you tell us is no longer op~-erative. Through you we go after

  strategies-not simple codes and ciphers, but supposedly long-term vital

  strategies-that Washington has aborted without telling you. In the process

  we reveal our personnel. Surely you!re aware of this. You talk of logic?

  Heed your own words."

  Havelock stared at the Soviet officer, his breathing audible, anger and

  bewilderment compounding the emotional strain. Even the shadow of a

  possibility that an error had been

  36 R013FRT LuDLum

  made at Costa Brava was more than he could face. But there was no error. A

  Baader-Meinhof defector had set off the reveahng chain of events. The

  evidence had been sent to Madrid, and he had pored over it, sifting every

  fragment for a shred to the contrary. There was nothing; there was every-

  thing. Even Anthony Matthias-Anton Matthias, friend, mentor, surrogate

  father-had demanded indepth verification; it had been returned: Positive.

  "Nol The proof was therel She was therel I saw for myselff I said I had to

  see for myself and they agreedl"

  "'They"? Who is'they?"

  'You know as well as I dol Men like youl The inside shell-strategistsl You

  didn't look hard enough. You~re wrongl"

  The Russian moved his bead slowly in circles, his left band massaging his

  throat; he spoke softly. "I won~t deny that the possibility exists-as I

  said, the VK-R is maniacally secretive, especially in Moscow-but that

  possibility is remote.... We were astonished. An unusually productive decoy

  conduit is led into a terrorist trap by her own people, who then proceed to

  bold the KGB responsible for her death by claiming she was one of us. The

  result of this manipulation is the neuterIng of the woman's constant

  companion, her lover, a deepcover, multilingual field agent of exceptional

  talent. Disillusion and disgust overwhelm him; he takes himself out. We are

  amazed; we search the dossier vaults, including the most Inaccessible. She

  is nowhere. jenna Karas-Karasova-was never a part of us." Rostov paused,

  his eyes conveying his awareness: Michael Havelock was a dangerously

  provoked panther about to spring, about to strike. The Russian continued,

  his voice flat: "We are grateful; we profit by your elimination, but we ask

  ourselves why? Why was this done? Is it a trick? If so, for what purpose?

  Who gains? On the surface we do, but again, why? How?"

  "Ask the VKRI" shouted Michael contemptuously. "They didn't plan it this

  way, but thaes the way it happened. I'm the bonusl Ask theml"

  "We did," said the Russian. "A section director, saner than most, who,

  because of his relative sanity, is frightened of his peers. He told us that

  be personally was not familiar with the Karas woman or the specifics at

  Costa Brava, but since the field personnel raised no questions, he assumed

  no questions

  Trm PAnsiFAL Mosmc37

  should be raised. As be pointed out, the results were favorable: two condors

  shot down, both talented, one exceptional. The Voennaya was pleased to take

  credit."

  'Vby sbouldn't they? I was out, and she could be justified. A sacrifice by

  any name is still the same. It's expendable for a purpose. He said it; he

  acknowledged it."

  "He did not acknowledge it and be was saying something quite different. I

  told you, he's a frightened man. Only my rank persuaded him to go as far as

  he did."

  "Yoere reaching."

  "I listened. As you listened to me a few moments ago. He was telling us

  that he hadn't the vaguest idea what had happened or why."

  "He personally didn't know," said Havelock angrily. "The people in the

  field knew. She knewl"

  "A tenuous rationalization. His office is responsible for all activities in

  the southwest Mediterranean sector. The territory includes the Costa Brava.

  An emergency rendezvous-
-especfally one ostensibly involving the

  Baader-Meinbof-would certainly be cleared by him." Rostov paused briefly,

  then added quietly, "Under normal circumstances."

  "A not so tenuous rationalization?" asked Michael.

  "I leave myself the narrowest margin for error. An extremely remote

  possibility."

  "Ies the one I acceptl" Havelock shouted again, suddenly disturbed at his

  own outburst.

  "You want to accept it. Perhaps you have to."

  'rhe VKR more often than not gets its orderg direc4ly from the policy rooms

  of the Kremlin. It's no secret. If you~re not lying, you were passed over."

  "To besure, and the thought frightens me more than I can tell you. But as

  much as rm forced to acknowledge your professional accomplishments,

  priyatel, I do not think the policy makers in the Kremlin are concerned

  with the likes of you and me. They have more weighty matters, global

  matters. And, to the point, they have no expertise where we~re concerned."

  "They do with Baader-Meinbofl And the PLO, and the Brigate Rosse, and a

  couple of dozen 'red armies' blowing things up all over the goddamn placel

  Thaes policyl"

  "Only for maniacs."

  "Which is exactly what were talking aboutl Maniacsl"

  38ROBERT LuDLum

  Michael paused, the obvious striking him. "We broke the VKR codes. They were

  authentic; I've seen too many variations not to know. I set up the contact.

  She responded. I sent the final transmission to the men in the boat

  offshore. They respondedl Explain thatl"

  "I can't."

  "Then get outl"

  The KGB officer looked at his watch. "I must, in any event. Time is up."

  "Yes, it is."

  "We're at an impasse," said the Russian.

  "rin not"

  "No, I don't think you are, and that compounds the risk about you. You know

  what you know and I know what I know. Impasse, whether you like it or not."

  "Your time's up, remember?"

  "I'm not forgetting. I don't care to be caught in the cross fire. III leave

  now." Rostov went to the door and turned, his hand on the knob. "Several

  minutes ago you said the bait was too obvious, the stench too rotten. Tell

  that to Washington, priyatel. We're not taking it either."

  "Get outi"

  The door closed, and Havelock stood motionless for nearly a minute,

  picturing the Russian's eyes. They had held too much truth in them. Over

  the years Michael bad learned to discern the truth, especially in his

  enemies. Rostov had not been lying; he bad spoken the truth as be believed

  it to be. Which meant that this powerful strategist for the KGB was being

  manipulated by his own people in Moscow. Pyotr Rostov was a blind probe-an

  influential intelligence officer sent out with information be is convinced

  his superiors do not have in order to make contact with the enemy and turn

  an American agent, recruiting him for the Soviets. The higher up the

  officer, the more credible his story-as long as he spoke the truth as he

  saw it, truth that was perceived as such by his enemy.

  Michael walked to the bedside table, where be bad left the glass of whisky

  a half hour ago. He picked it up, drained the Scotch, and looked down at

  the bed. He smiled to himself, thinking bow the evening had veered from

  where it bad been heading thirty minutes ago. The whore had performed, but

  not in any way he ndght have expected. The sensuous

  THE PArtsiFAL Mosmc39

  courtesan from the playgrounds of the rich bad been a setup. When were the

  setups going to stop? Amsterdam. Paris. Athens.

  Perhaps they would not stop until he did. Perhaps as long as he kept moving

  the would-be trappers would keep moving with him, watching him, comering

  him, waiting for him to commit whatever crimes their imaginations led them

  to believe he would commit. It was in the movement itself that they found

  the ominous substance for their suspicions. No man wandered aimlessly after

  a lifetime of wandering under orders. If he kept it up, it had to mean he

  was following other orders, different orders; otherwise he'd stay put.

  Somewhere.

  Perhaps it was time he stopped. Maybe his odyssey of recovery bad about run

  its course; there was a cable to be sent, a commitment to be made. A

  beginning. A nearly forgotten friend bad become a friend again, and that

  man had offered him a new life, where the old life could be buried, where

  there were roots to cultivate, relationships to create, things to teach.

  What tviU you teach, MikhailP

  Leave me alonel You are no part of me-you never werel

  He would send the cable to Harry Lewis in the morning, then rent a car and

  drive northwest to the ferry for the Adriatic port of K6rkira, where he

  would catch the boat to Brindisi in Italy. He had done it before under God

  knows what name or with what objective. He would do it now as Michael

  Havelock, visiting professor of government. From Brindisi he would take the

  circuitous train routes across Italy into Rome, a city he enjoyed

  immensely. He would stay in Rome for a week or two; it would be the last

  stop on his odyssey, the place where be would put to rest all thoughts of

  a life that was over.

  There were things to do in Concord, New Hampshire, U.S.A. He would assume

  his duties as visiting professor in something less than three months; in

  the meantime there were practicalities to be dealt with: lectures to be

  sketched out under the guidance of knowledgeable associates; curricula to

  study and evaluate, determining where his contributions might best be

  directed. A short visit, perhaps, with Matthias, who would certainly have

  insights to offer. No matter how pressed for time, Matthias would take the

  time, be-

  40ROBERT LUDLUM

  cause, above all men, Anton would be happiest for him: his old student had

  returned to the campus. It was where it had all begun.

  So many things to do.

  He needed a place to live: a house, furniture, pots and pans and books, a

  chair to sit in, a bed to sleep in. Choices. He had not thought about such

  things ever before. He thought about them now and felt the excitement

  growing inside him.

  He went to the bureau, uncapped the Scotch and poured himself a drink.

  "Pfiteli," be said softly, for no particular reason, as be looked at his

  face in the mirror. Suddenly he stared at his eyes and, in terror, slammed

  the glass down with such force that it shattered; blood spread slowly over

  his hand. His eyes would not let him gol And he understood. Had his own

  eyes seen the truth that night on the Costa Brava?

  "Stop id" he screamed, whether silently or out loud, he could not tell.

  "Ies overl"

  Dr. Harry Lewis sat at his desk in his book-lined study, the cablegram in

  his hand. He listened for the sound of his wife~s voice. It came.

  "See you later, dear," she called from the hallway beyond. The front door

  opened and closed. She was out of the house.

  Lewis picked up his telephone and dialed the area code 202. Washington,

  D.C. The seven digits that followed had been committed to memory, never

  written down. Nor would they be recorded on a bill, having bypassed th
e

  computers electronically.

  "Yes?" asked the male voice on the other end of the line.

  "Bfrchtree," said Harry.

  "Go ahead, Bircbtree. You're being taped."

  "He's accepted. The cable came from Athens."

  "Is there any change in dates?"

  "No. He'll be here a month before the trimester itarts.-

  "Did he say where he was going from Athens?"

  "No."

  "We'll watch the airports. Thank you, Birchtree."

  The Rome Havelock had come to visit was not the Rome In which he cared to

  stay. Strikes were everywhere, the chaos

  THE PA:asxFAL MosAic41

  compounded by volatile Italian tempers that erupted on every street comer,

  every picket line, in the parks and around the fountains. Mail had been

  strewn in gutters, adding to the uncollected garbage; taxis were

  scarce-practically nonexistent-and most of the restaurants had been closed

  because of the lack of deliveries. The poliziotti, having taken sufficient

  abuse, were on a work stoppage, snarling further the normal insanity of

  Romes traffic, and since the telephones were part of the government's postal

  service, they functioned on a level below normal, which made them damn near

  impossible. The city was full of a kind of hysteria, which was aggravated by

  yet another stem papal decree-from a foreigner, a polaccolthat was at odds

  with every progressive step since Vatican 11. Giovanni Ventitreesimol Dove

  seiP

  It was his second night, and Michael had left his pengone on the Via Due

  Macelli over two hours before, walking nearly the mile to the Via Flaminia

  Vecchia in hopes of finding a favorite restaurant open. It was not, and no

  amount of patience brought forth a taxi to bring him back to the Spanish

  Steps.

  Reaching the north end of the Via Veneto, he was heading toward the side

  street that would elin-dnate the crowds in the gaudy carnival that was the

  Veneto when he saw it-a poster in the lighted window of a travel agency

  proclaiming the glories of Venice.

  Why not? Why the hell not? The floating passivity of not planning included

  sudden changes in plans. He looked at his watch; it was barely

  eight-thirty, probably too late to get out to the airport and chance a

  reservation on a plane, but if he remembered correctly-and he did-the

 

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