Robert Ludlum - The Parcifal Mosaic.txt
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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