Robert Ludlum - The Parcifal Mosaic.txt
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"Neither of which we can do convincingly because there!s not a damn thing
we can offer him as proof," said Ogilvie. "Nothing he'll accept. Hes a
field man. Whatever we send him he'll filter, chew it around for accuracy,
and spit it back in the horseshit pile. So what do we tell him?"
"Don't teU him anything' " answered Miller. "You promise
to tell him. Put it any way you like. The informatiods too
classified to send by courier, too dangerous to be permitted
outside these rooms. Play his game, suck him in. Remember,
he desperately wants-needs, if you like-his primary halluci
nation confirmed. He saw a dead woman; he has to believe
that. And the confirmation's over here; it could be irresistible
to him."
"Sorry, Headman." The. red-haired former field agent
THE PAR9WAL M09AIC105
raised his hands, palms up. "He won't buy it, not that way. His-what did you
call it? his 'reaht,/ part?-would reject it. Thaes buying a code in a box of
Cracker Jacks. It just doesn't happen. Hell want something stronger, much
strongen"
"Matthias?" asked Dawson quietly.
"Optimum," agreed the psychiatrist.
"Not yet," said Stem. "Not until we have no other choice. The quiet word is
that he!s aware of his failing condition; he's conserving his strength for
SALT Three. We =1 lay this on him now.
"We may have to," insisted Dawson.
'Ve may, then again we may not." The director turned to Ogilvie. "Why does
Havelock have to buy anything concrete, Red?"
"So we can get close enough to grab him."
"Couldn~t a sequence be designed-say, one piece of Information leading to
another, each more vital than the lastso as to draw him in, suck him in, as
Paul says? He caiA get the last unless he shows up?'
"A treasure huntr asked Ogilvie, laughing.
"That!s what Vs on'" said Miller quietly.
"The answer's no." The red-haired man leaned forward, his elbows on the
table. "A sequence operation depends on credibility; the better the field
man, the firmer the credibility. Ws also a very delicate exercise. The
subject, if he's someone like Havelock, will use decoys, blind
intermediaries. Hell reverse the process by programming his decoys with
information of their own, give his intermediaries questions they want
answered on the spot; he'll suck you in. He won't expect perfect answers;
Vd be suspicious as hell if he got them, but he!ll want what we used to
call a 'stomach consensus! Ws not something you can write down on paper and
analyze; it's a gut feeling for believability. There aren't that many good
men who could fool Havelock in sequence. one substantial misstep and he
closes the book and walks away."
"And sets off the explosions," said Miller.
"I see," said Stem.
And it was clear that the men around that table did see. It was one of
those moments when the unkempt, irascible Ogilvie confirmed his value, as
he did so frequently. He had been out in that labyrinth called the "field,"
and his summations had a peculiar eloquence and sagacity.
106ROBERT Luixum
'Mere is a way, however," continued the former agent. "rm not sure there's
any other."
"What is it?" asked the director of Cons Op.
#Ve."
"Out of the question."
'11iink about it," said Ogilvie quickly. "I'm the credibility. Havelock
knows me-more important, he knows I sit at this table. To him Im one of
them, a balf-assed strategist who may not . know what he's asking for, but
sure as hell knows why. And with me there!s a difference; a few of them out
there might even count on it. Ive been where they've been. None of the rest
of you have. Outside of Matthias, if theres anyone he'll listen to, anyone
he'll meet with, ies me."
"rin sorry, Red. Even if I agreed with you, and I think I do, I can~t
permit It. You know the rules. Once you step inside this room, you never go
out in the field again."
"That rule was made in this room. Vs not Holy Writ."
"It was made for a very good reason," said the attorney. 'Me same reason
our houses are watched around the clock, our cars followed, our regular
telephones tapped with our consent. If any of us was taken by interested
parties, from Moscow to Peking to the Persian Gulf, the consequences would
be beyond recall."
"No disrespect, Counselor, but those safeguards were designed for people
like you and the Headman here. Even Daniel. rm a little different. They
wouldn't try to take me because they know they'd wind up with nothing."
"No one doubts your capabilities," countered Dawson. "But I submit-"
"It hasn't anything to do with capabilities," interrupted Ogilvie, raising
his hand to the lapel of his wom tweed jacket; he tamed up the Rap toward
the lawyer next to him. "L,ook closely, Counselor. There's a slight bulge
an inch from the tip here.-
Dawson~s eyes dropped to the fabric, his expression noncommittal.
-Cyanide?-
"Thaes right."
"Sometimes, Red, I find you hard to believe.*
"Don't mistake me," said Ogilvie simply. "I don't ever want to use this-or
the others I've got conveniently placed. rm no macho freak trying to shock
you. I don~t hold my arm over a fire to show how brave I am any more than
I
THE PAWWAL MOSATC 107
want to kill someone or 'have him try to kill me. rve got these pills
because I'm a coward, Mr. Lawyer. You say were being watched, guarded
twenty-four hours a day. That's terriflc, but I think yoere overreacting to
something that doeset exist. I don't think there is a Me on you in
Dzerzhinsky Square; at least not on you or the doctor here. Im sure there's
one on Stem, but grabbing him is like codes in Cracker jacks, or us going in
and grabbing someone like Rostov. It doeset happen. But there's a Me on
me-you can bet your legal ass on that-and Im not retired. What I know is
still very operative, more so ever since I stepped inside this room. That's
why rve got these little bastards. I know bow I'd go in and bow I'd come
out, and they know I know. Strangely enough, these pills are my protection.
They know I've got them and they know I'd use them. Because Im a coward."
"And yoeve just spelled out the reasons why you can't go into the field,"
said the director of Consular Operations.
"Have I? Then either you didn't listen or you should be fired for
incompetence. For not taking into account what I did* spell. out. What do
you want, Teacher? A note from my doctor? Excusing me from all activityr
The strategists glanced briefly at each other, looking uncomfortable. "Come
on, Red, cut it out," said Stem. 'Ibaes not called for."
'Yes, it is, Dan. Ies the sort of thing you consider when making a
decision. We all know about it, we just doet talk about it, and I suppose
thaes another kind of consideration. How long have I got? Three months,
maybe four? les why rm here, and that was an intelligent decision."
"It was hardly the sole reason," offered Dawson softly.
"If it didn't weigh heavily in my favor, it should have, Counselor. You
should always pi
ck someone from the field whose longevity~or lack of it-can
be counted on." Ogilvie tamed to the balding Miller. "Our doctor knows,
don7t you, Paul?"
"I'm not your doctor, Red," said the psychiatrist quietly.
"You don't have to be; you~ve read the reports. In five weeks or so the
pain will start getting worse .,. . then worse after that. I won't feel it,
of course, because by then III be moved to a bospital room where injections
will keep it under control, and all those phony cheerful voices will tell
me rm
108 ROBERT LUDLUM
actually getting better. Until I can't focus, or hear them, and then they
don't have to say anything." The former field man leaned back in his chair,
looking now at Stern. "We!ve got here what our learned attorney might call
a confluence of beneficial prerogatives. 'Chances are that the Soviets won1
touch me, but if they tried, nothing's lost for me, you can be goddamned
sure of that. And I'm the only one around who can pull Havelock out in the
open, far enough so we can take him."
Stem's gaze was steady on the red-haired man who was dying. "You're
persuasive," he said.
"I'm not only persuasive, Im right." Suddenly Ogilvie pushed his chair back
and stood up. "rm so right rm going home to pack and grab a cab to Andrews.
Get me on a military transport to Italy; theres no point in advertising the
trip on a commercial flight. Those KGB turkeys know every passport, every
cover I've ever used, and theWs no time to be inventive. Route me through
Brussels into the base at Palombara. Then cable Baylor to expect me... Call
me Apache."
"Apache?" asked Dawson.
'Darnn good trackers."
"Assuming Havelock will meet with you," said the psychiahist, "what'll you
say to him?"
"Not a hell of a lot. Once hes an arm~s length away he's mine."
"He's experienced, Red," said Stem, studying Ogilvie's face. "He may not be
all there, but he's tough."
"IT have equipment," replied the dying man, heading for the door. "And I'm
experienced, too, which is why Im a coward. I don't go near anything I
can't walk away from. Mostly." Ogilvie opened the door and left without
another word. The exit was clean, swift, the sound of the closing door
final.
'We won't see him again," said Miller.
"I know," said Stem. "So does he."
"Do you think he'll reach Havelock?" asked Dawson.
"rin sure of it," replied the director of Cons Op. "Hell take him, turn him
over to Baylor and a couple of resident physicians we've got in Rome, then
he'll disappear. He told us. He's not going into that hospital room and all
those lying voices. He'll go his own way."
"Ws entitled to that," said the psychiatrist.
. THE PARSIFAL MOSAIC109
"I suppose so," agreed the lawyer without conviction, turning to Stem. "As
Red might say, 'No disrespect,' but I wish to Cod we could be certain about
Havelock. He's got to be immobilized. We could be hauled in by authorities
all over Europe, fuel for the fanatics of every persuasion. Embassies could
be burned to the ground, networks scattered, time lost, hostages taken,
and-don~t fool yourself-a great many people killed. All because one man
fell,off balance. We've seen it happen with far less provocation than
Havelock could provide."
"That's why Im so sure Ogilvie will bring him in," said Stem. "Im not in
Paurs line of work, but I think I know what's going through Red's mind.
He's offended, deeply offended. He's watched friends die in the field-from
Africa to Istanbul-unable to do anything because of his cover. He saw a
wife and three children leave him because of his job; he hasn't seen his
kids in five years. Now he's got to live with what he's got-die from what
he's got. All things considered, if he stays on track, what gives Havelock
the right, the privilege, to go over the edge? Our Apaches on his last
hunt, setting his last trap. Hell see it through because be!s angry."
'That and one other thing," said the psychiatrist. "Theres nothing else
left for him. Ies his final justification."
"For what?" asked the lawyer.
"The pain, " answered Miller. "His and Havelocles. You see, he respe~ted
him once. He cant forget that."
8
The -unmarked jet swept down from the skies forty miles due north of the
airport of Palombara Sabina. It bad flown from Brussels, avoiding all
military and commercial air routes, and soaring over the Alps east of the
Lepontine sector; its altitude was so great and its descent so rapid that
the probability of observation was practically nonexistent. Its blip on
defense radar screens was prearranged: it would appear and disappear without
comment, without investigation. And when it landed at Palombara, it would
bring in a man who bad been taken on board secretly at three o'clock in the
morning, Brussels time. A man without a conventional name, referred to only
as the Apache. This man, as with many like him, could not risk the
formalities of identifleation at immigration desks or border checkpoints.
Appearances might be altered and names changed, but other men watched such
places, knowing what to look for, their minds trained to react like memory
banks; too often they were successful. For the Apache-as for many like
him-the current means of travel was more the norm than otherwise.
The engines were cut back as the pilot-traffied in carrier landings-guided
his aircraft over the forests in the stretched-out, low approach to the
field. It was a mile-long black strip cut out of the woods, with
maintenance hangars and traffic towers set back and camouflaged, odd yet
barely
110
THE PARSWAL MOSAICill
visible intrusions on the countryside. The plane touched down, and the young
pilot tamed in his seat as the reverse thrust of the jets echoed throughout
the small cabin. He raised his voice to be heard, addressing the red-haired
middle-aged man behind him.
"Here we are, Indian. You can take out your bow and arrows.
"Funny boy," said Ogilvie, releasing the clamp that held the strap across
his chest. He looked at his watch. "What!S the time here? I'm still on a
Washington clock.'
"Oh-five-fifty-seven; you've lost six hours. You're working on midnight,
but here ies morning. if yoere expected at the office, I hope you got some
sleep."
"Enough. Is transport arranged?"
"Right to the big chiefs wigwam on the Via Vittorio."
"Very cute. The embassy?"
"That's right. Yatere a special package. Delivery guaranteed straight from
Brussels."
"That's wrong. The embassy's out."
"We've got our orders."
"Im issuing new ones."
Ogilvie walked into the small office reserved for men like himself in the
maintenance building of the unmapped airfield. It was a room devoid of
windows, with only basic furniture; there were two telephones, both routed
perpetually through electronic scrambler systems. The outside corridor that
led to the office was guarded by three men dressed innocuously in overalls.
Under
the bulging fabric, however, each carried a weapon, and should any
unidentified persons interfere with the incoming passenger or the presence
of a camera even be suspected, the weapons would be bared, used instantly if
necessary. These accommodations were the result of extraordinary conferences
between unknown men of both governments whose concerns transcended the
stated limits of covert cooperation; quite simply, they were necessary.
Governments everywhere were being threatened from without and within, from
fanatics of the left and the right committed solely to the destruction of
the status quo. Fanaticism fed upon itself, upon sensationalism, upon the
spectacular interruption of normal activity; clandestine access had to be
given those who fought the extremists in any form. It was
112 ROBERT LunLum
presumed that those who passed through Palombara were such fighters, and the
current passenger knew beyond any doubt that be was one. Unless he brought
in a rogue agent, a dangerous paranoid whose mind held the secret histories
of a thousand untold intelligence operations going back sixteen years, that
man could destroy alliances and networks throughout Europe. Sources would
disappear, potential sources evaporate. Michael Havelock had to be found and
taken; no terrorist could inflict greater damage.
Ogilvie walked to the desk, sat down, and picked up the telephone on his
left; it was black, signifying domestic use. He dialed the number be had
committed to memory, and twelve seconds later the sleepy voice of
Lieutenant Colonel Lawrence Baylor Brown was on the line.
"Brown. What is it?"
"Baylor Brown?"
"Apache?"
"Yes. rm at Palombara. Have you heard anything?"
"Not a word. rve got tracers out all over Rome; there's not a line on him."
"You've got what?"
"Tracers. Every source we can pay or who owes us a favor-"
"Goddamn it ' call them offl What the hell do you think you're doing?"
. Hey, easy, buddy. I don't think we're going to get along."
"And I don't give a duck's fuck whether we do or notl You're not dealing
with a G-two crossword puzzle; he's a snake, buddy. You let him find out
you're going after him, he figures you've broken the rules. And he will
find out; tbaes when he bites. Jesus, you think he's never been traced be-