Robert Ludlum - The Parcifal Mosaic.txt

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by The Parcifal Mosaic [lit]


  the orders of my government and at the expense of the American taxpayer."

  The colonel stopped; he smiled. '71tats all I have to know to pull a

  trigger."

  "You could go far."

  I intend to, Ive got points to make."

  Ogilvie stepped away from the tree; he looked past the bordering foliage at

  the dormant gardens beyond. He spoke quietly, his voice flat, noncommittal.

  "I could lose you, you know. Kill you, if I had to."

  "Right on," agreed the officer. "So IT forget about the Excelsior. You take

  a room in my name and when the call comes from Havelock, you pretend to be

  me. He expects me to be there, confirm your presence; he knows I've got a

  stake

  THE PARSIFAL MOSAIC 121

  in this. And by the way, when you talk to him as me, don't make it too

  nigger. I'm a Rhodes Scholar. Oxford, "71."

  The agent turned. "Yoxere also something else. I can bring you up on

  charges, a court-martial guaranteed. Direct disobedience of a superior in

  the field."

  "For a conversation that never took place? Or perhaps it did, and I

  exercised on-spot military judgment. The subject found the contact

  unacceptable; I wanted another man in Rome. How does that grab you,

  Gunslinger?"

  Ogilvie did not answer for the better part of a minute. He threw his

  cigarette on the ground, crushing it underfoot, grinding his shoe into the

  dirt. "You7re talented, Colonel," he said finally. "I need you."

  "You really want him, don't your

  .Te

  's.

  "I thought so. It was in your voice on the phone. I wanted that

  confirmation, Mr. Strategist. just consider me an insurance policy you

  don't want to carry, but your accountant says you must. If I have to pay

  off, nothing's lost. I can justify the act better than anyone around a D.C.

  conference table. I'm the only one who's spoken to him. I know what he's

  done and what he hasn't done."

  "A very short time could prove you wrong."

  "I'll chance it. That's how sure I am."

  "You won't have to. There'll be no payoff from you because I won't miss,

  and he won*t get away."

  "Glad to hear it. Outside of the couple who 'll pick you up when you leave

  the hotel, what else do you need?"

  "Nothing. I brought my equipment with me."

  "What are you going to tell him?'

  "Whatever he wants to hear."

  "What are you going to useF2

  "Experience. Have you made arrangements for the room?"

  "Forty-five minutes ago," said Baylor. "Only, ies not a room, its a suite.

  That way there're two phones. just in case you7re tempted to give me a

  wrong rendezvous, I'll be listening to everything he says."

  "You7re boxing me in, boy."

  "I'll let that pass. Look at it this way. When today's over, you'll be

  heading back to Washington either with him or without him, but with no

  hooks in you. If you've got him, fine. If not, I'll take the heat. My

  judgmenes respected at the

  122 ROBERT LuDLum

  Pentagon; . under the circumstances the solution will be last extremity,'

  and acceptable."

  'You know that book, don't you?"

  "Right down to a hundred-odd contradictions. Go back to the good life, Mr.

  Strategist. Be well and happy in the Georgetown circuit. Make your

  pronouncements from a distance and leave the field to us. Youll live better

  that way."

  Ogilvie controlled the wince that was about to crease his face. He could

  feel the sharp pain shooting up through his rib cage, clawing at the base

  of his throat. It was spreading; every day it went a little further, hurt

  a little more. Signals of the irreversible. "Thanks for the advice," he

  said.

  9

  Ile Palatine, one of the seven hills of Rome, rises beyond the Arch of

  Constantine, its sloping fields dotted with the alabaster ruins of

  antiquity. It was the rendezvous.

  A quarter of a mile northwest of the Gregorio gate was an ancient arbor,

  with a bust of the emperor Domitian resting upon a fluted pedestal at the

  end of a stone path bordered on both sides by the marble remnants of a

  jagged wan. Branches of wild olive cascaded over the chiseled rock while

  vines of brown and green crept underneath, filling crevices and spreading

  a spidery latticework across the cracked yet ageless marble. At the end of

  the path, behind the blotched, stem face of Domitian, were the remains of

  a fountain built into the hill. The arbor abruptly stopped; there was no

  exit.

  The peaceful setting gave rise to images: stately men in togas strolling in

  the sunlight filtering through the overhanging branches, meditating on the

  great affairs of Rome, and on the ever-expanding boundaries of the empire,

  uneasy over the increasing abuses that came with unchallenged might and

  undiluted power-wondering, perhaps, when the beginning of the end would

  commence.

  This sylvan fragment of another time war, the contact ground. Time span:

  thirty minutes-between three o'clock and half past the hour, when the sun

  was at midpoint in the western sky. Here two men would meet, each with

  different

  123

  124 RoBERT LuDLum

  objectives, both aware that the differences migbt,cause the death of one or

  the other, neither wanting that finality. Wariness was the order of the

  afternoon.

  It was twenty minutes before three, the start of the span. Havelock had

  positioned himself behind a cluster of bushes on the next bill overlooking

  the arbor, several hundred feet above the bust of Domitian. He was

  concerned, angry, as bis eyes roamed over the stone path and the untamed

  fields beyond the walls below. A half hour ago, from a sidewalk caf6 across

  the Via Veneto from the Excelsior, he had seen what he was afraid he might

  see. Within seconds after the redhaired Ogilvie had walked through the

  glass doors onto the pavement be bad been picked up by a man and a woman

  who had emerged casually-too casually, a bit too swiftlyfrom a jewelry shop

  next door. The store had a wide-angled display-ease entrance, affording

  observers inside a decent range of vision. The man from Washington had

  veered briefly to his right and stopped before entering the stream of

  pedestrians heading left. It was a sighting backup, the unobtrusive

  movement of a hand or a fleeting glance at the pavement, gestures that

  marked him in the crowds. There would be no taking the Apache unawares

  before be reached the Palatine. Ogilvie bad anticipated that the attempt

  might be made; he had no intention of losing control, and so he had

  protected himself. On the phone, the former field man, now a vaunted

  strategist, had offered only accommodation. He had reasonable-if highly

  classified-data to deliver; in them would be found the answers Michael

  sought.

  Not to worry, Navajo. WeT talk.

  But if the Apache had reasonable explanations to offer, he did not require

  protection. And why had Ogilvie agreed so readily to the out-of-the-way

  rendezvous? Why haddt he simply suggested meeting on the street, or at a

  caf6? A man confident of the news he bore did not s
et up defenses, yet the

  strategist had done just that.

  Instead of an explanation, bad Washington sent another message?

  Dispatch? Call me deadP

  I didn't say we'd kiU you. We don!t live in that kind of country. . . . On

  the other hand, why not? Lieutenant Colonel Lawrence Baylor Brown,

  intelligence condui% U.S. embassy, Rome.

  TnE PATtsrrAL MosAic125

  If Washington had reached that conclusion, the planners bad sent a

  qualifled assassin. Havelock respected Ogilvie's talents, but he did not

  admire the man. The former operative was one of those men who justify their

  violence too glibly with self-serving scraps of philosophy that imply

  personal revulsion for committing even necessary acts of violence. Asso-

  ciates in the fleld knew better. Ogilvie was a killer, driven by some inner

  compulsion to avenge himself against his own personal furies, which be

  concealed from all but those who worked closely with him under maximum

  stress; and those who knew him tried their level best never to work with

  him again.

  After Istanbul, Michael bad done something he had never thought he would

  do. He had reached Anthony Matthias and advised him to take Red Ogilvie out

  of the field. The man was dangerous. Michael had volunteered to appear

  before a closed hearing with the strategists, but, as always, Matthias had

  the better, less divisive method. Ogilvie was an expert; few men had his

  background in covert activities. The Secretary of State had ordered him up

  the ladder, making Ogilvie a strategist himself.

  Matthias was out of Washington these days. It was not a comforting thought.

  Decisions were often arrived at without accountability for the simple

  reason that those who should be apprised in depth were not accessible. The

  urgency of a given crisis was frequently a green light for movement.

  That was it, thought Havelock, as his eyes settled on a figure in the

  distance, in the sloping field beyond the right wan. It was the man who had

  accompanied the woman out of the jewelry store next to the Excelsior, the

  one who had picked up Ogilvie. Michael looked to his left; there was the

  woman. Sbewas standing by the steps of an ancient bath, a sketch pad in her

  left hand. But there was no sketching pencil in her right, which she held

  under the lapel of her gabardine coat. Havelock returned to the man in the

  field on the right. He was sitting on the ground now, legs stretched, a

  book open on his lap-a Roman finding an hour's peace, reading. And by no

  coincidence his hand, too, was held in place at the upper regions of his

  coarse tweed jacket. The two were in communication and Michael knew the

  language. Italian.

  Italians. No subordinates from the embassy, no CIA stringers, no Baylor-no

  Americans in sight. When Ogilvie ar-

  126 ROBERT LuDLum

  rived, he'd be the only one. It flt, remove all U.S. personnel, all avenues

  of record. Use only local backups, men or women themselves beyond salvage.

  Dispatch.

  Why? Why was he a crisis? What had he done or what did he know that made

  men in Washington want him deadP First they wanted him out by way of jenna

  Karas. Now dead. Christ in heaven, what was it?

  Besides the couple, were there others? He strained his eyes against the

  sun, studying every patch of ground, separating the terrain into blocks-an

  awkward puzzle. The arbor of Domitian was not a prominent site on the

  Palatine; it was a minor scrap of antiquity left to decay. The dismal month

  of March had further reduced the number of trespassers. In the distance, on

  a bill to the east, a group of children played under the watchful glances

  of two adults. Teachers, perhaps. Below, to the south, there was an uncut

  green lawn with marble columns of the early empire standing like upright,

  bloodless corpses of widely differing heights. Several tourists laden with

  camera equipment-straps over straps, and bulgfng cases-were taking

  photographs, posing one another in front of the fluted remains. But other

  than the couple coverfng both sides of the arboes entrance, there was no

  one in the immediate vicinity of Domitian's retreat. If they were competent

  marksmen, no additional backups were necessary. There was only one

  entrance, and a man climbing a wall was an easy target; it was a gauntlet

  with a single exit. That, too, fit the policy of dispatch. Use as few

  locals as possible, remembering always that they can snap back with

  extortion.

  The irony bad come about unconsciously. Michael bad roamed the Palatine

  that morning, selecting the site for the very advantages that now could be

  used against him. He looked at his watch: fourteen minutes to three. He bad

  to move quickly, but not until he saw Ogilvie. The Apache was smart; he

  knew the odds favored his remaining out of sight as long as possible,

  riveting his adversary's concentration on his anticipated appearance.

  Michael understood, so he concentrated on his options: on the woman with a

  sketch pad in her hand, and the man reclining on the grass.

  Suddenly, he was there. At one minute to three the redhaired agent came

  into view, his head and shoulders seen first as be walked up the path from

  the Gregorio gate, passing the man in the field without acknowledgment.

  Some-

  THE PARSIFAL MOSAIC127

  thing was odd, thought Havelock, something about Ogilvie himself. Perhaps it

  was his clothes, as usual rumpled, ill-fitting . . . but too large for his

  stocky frame. Whatever, he seemed different; not the face-he was too far

  away for his face to be seen clearly. It was in his walk, the way he held

  his shoulders, as if the gentle slope of the hill were far steeper than it

  was. The Apache had changed since Istanbul; the seven years had not been

  kind.

  Ogilvie reached the remnants of the marble arch that was the arbor's

  entrance; he would remain inside. It was three o'clock; the time span had

  begun.

  Michael crept away from his recess behind the cluster of wild bush and

  crawled rapidly through the descending field of high grass, keeping his

  body close to the ground and making a wide arc north until be came to the

  base of the hill. He glanced at his watch; it had taken him nearly two

  minutes.

  The woman was now above him, roughly a hundred yards away in the center of

  the field below and to the right of Domitiar~s arbor. He could not see her,

  but he knew she had not moved. She had chosen her sight lines carefully, a

  backup killer's habit. He started up the slope on his hands and knees,

  separating the blades of grass in front of him, listening for the sounds of

  unexpected voices. There were none.

  He reached the crest. The woman was directly ahead, no more than sixty feet

  away, still standing on the first rung of curving white steps that led down

  to the ancient marble bath. She held the sketch pad in front of her, but

  her eyes were not on it. They were staring at the entrance of the arbor,

  her concentration absolute, her body primed to move instantly. Then

  Havelock saw what he had hoped he would see: the heavyset woman's right

  hand was no longer on her lape
l. It was now concealed under her gabardine

  coat, without question gripping an automatic she could remove quickly and

  afin accurately, unencumbered by the awkwardness of a pocket. Michael

  feared that weapon, but he feared the radio more. In moments it might be an

  ally; now it was his enemy, as deadly as any gun.

  He looked at his watch again, annoyed at the sight of the seconds ticking

  off; be had to move swiftly. He did so, staying below the crest of the

  field, working his way around toward the broken stone trench that led to

  the well of the Roman bath. Huge weeds sprang up from the sides and from

  128 ROBERT LUDLUM

  the cracks in the trench, covering it and giving it the appearance of an

  ugly giant centipede. Havelock parted the moist, filthy overgrowth, slid

  forward on his stomach, and crawled along the jagged marble ditch. Thirty

  seconds later he emerged from the weeds into the ancient remains of the cir-

  cular pool that centuries ago bad held the oiled, pampered bodies of

  emperors and courtesans. Seven feet above himeight decayed steps away-was

  the woman whose function was to kill him should her current employer be

  incapable of doing so. Her back was to him, her thick legs planted like

  those of a sergeant major commanding a macbine-gun squad.

  He studied the remains of the marble staircase; it was fragile, and was

  protected by a twelve-inch iron fence on the second rung to prevent

  onlookers from venturing farther down. The weight of a body on any single

  step could cause the stone to crack, and the sound would be his undoing.

  But what if the sound was accompanied by the impact of a severe physical

  blow? He knew be bad to decide quickly, move quickly. Every minute that

  went by was adding to the growing alarm of the assassin in Domitian's

  arbor.

  Silently be moved his hands about under the tangled weeds; his flngers

  struck a hard, rougb-edged object. It was a fragment of marble, a chiseled

  part of an artisan's design two thousand years ago. He gripped it in his

  right band and, with the other, removed from his belt the Llama automatic

  be bad taken from the would-be mafloso in Civitaveccbia. Long ago be bad

  trained himself to fire with his left band as well as with his right, a

  basic precaution. The skill would serve him now; it was his own particular

 

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