Robert Ludlum - The Parcifal Mosaic.txt

by The Parcifal Mosaic [lit]

  third or fourth on a list of a half-dozen false names. It was a highly

  classified search, but obviously an intense one, the widest Cooperation

  sought. It was strange, almost amateurish. As though

  THE PARSIFAL MOSAIC269

  one branch of your intelligence community did not want the other to know

  what it was doing."

  "Mat didn't exonerate me?"

  "On the contrary. You had been found out, the he had been exposed."

  "Then why wasn't there an alert out for nw?'

  "There was, is. As of five days ago."

  Five days, thought Havelock. The Palatine. "But you weren't aware of it."

  "Those in the Quai d'Orsay whove listed you as an American liaison knew of

  it, and in time it would have crossed my desk as a matter of routine.

  However, neither you nor I have ever listed each other in our reports. That

  was the understanding between us."

  "It served the purpose. Is the alert specific? Am I given a label?"

  "No. Only that it is imperative that you be located-as a matter of internal

  security. Again, I presumed: you had been exposed, either as a defector or

  as one who had lied to his superiors and disappeared. It really didn't

  matter which. Because of jenna Karas, you were the enemy in either case. It

  was confirmed for me when I called the embassy."

  "I forgot. I'm dangerous."

  "You are. To someone. I checked with London, Brussels, Amsterdam and Bonn.

  Both alerts have been circulated, both highest priority, but not

  connected."

  "You still haven't answered the question. Why did you send her to the

  States?"

  "I just did answer you; you weren't listening. The search for her-and now

  you-is centered in Europe. Rome, the Mediterranean, Paris, London ... Bonn.

  'Me curve is arcing north, the destination presumed to be the Eastern bloc.

  This is the line of progress theyre concentrating on, where their agents

  have fanned out, pulling in sources and contacts. They won't think to look

  in their own barnyard."

  "Backyard," said Michael absently.

  "Qu~est-ce que c?estP"

  'Vest anwiicain. Peu importe. When did she leave?"

  "Three-thirty this afternoon ... yesterday afternoon now. Air France to New

  York, diplomatic status, cover

  drawn from a dead file-unblemished, of course."

  "And unknown."

  270 RoBEnT LuDLTTm

  'Yes, ies not relevant. It will be changed."

  "What are the arrangements?"

  "She's to see a man; no doubt she's already seen him. He will make the

  arrangements, and it is our policy never to inquire what they are. You have

  the same sort of men over bere-in Paris, London, Amsterdam, wherever. They

  do not speak with us directly."

  "The landlords of the halfway houses," said Havelock, "guiding the people

  we send them into safe territories, providing identities, papers, families

  to live with, the towns and cities chosen carefully. We make our payments

  through blind conduits, and after contact we're not involved, We've never

  beard of them; ignorance is the order of the day. But there's another side,

  too, isn't there? We don't really know what happens to those people, do

  we?"

  "With safe transfer, our obligations are fulfilled. They ask no more and we

  offer no more, that's always been the understanding between us. 1, for one,

  have never been curious."

  "I'm not curious, R6gine, I'm going out of my mindl She's In sight now, I

  can find herl I ran find herl For Christ's sake, help mel Whom did you send

  her to?"

  "You ask a great deal, Michael. You're asking me to violate a confidence

  I've sworn never to break. I could lose a valuable man."

  "I could lose herl Look at mel Tell me I wouldn't do the same for youl If

  it was your husband and I was there and the Gestapo came for him, look at

  me and tell me I wouldn't help youl"

  Broussac closed her eyes briefly, as if struck. "The reference is unkind

  but not without truth. You are much like him.... Yes, you would have

  helped.'

  "Get me out of Paris. Right away. Pleasel"

  R6gine was silent for a moment, her eyes again roaming his face. "It would

  be better if you did so yourself. I know you can."

  "It could take me daysl I'd have to route myself through a back door in

  Mexico or Montreal. I can't lose the time. With every hour she's fartber

  away. You know what can happen. She could get swallowed up, moving from one

  circle into the next, no one telling anyone anything. She could disappear

  and I'd never find berl"

  Very well. Tomorrow, the noon flight on the Concorde.

  TuE PARSIPAL MOSAIC271

  Youll be French, a member of the United Nations delegation. Flush the

  papers down a toilet the minute you're in the Kennedy terminal."

  Thanks. Now the halfway man. Who is be?"

  "I'll get word to him, but be may choose to tell you nothing.-

  Get word to him. Who is be?"

  "A man named Handelman. Jacob Handelman. Columbia University."

  17

  The man with a single strip of tape on each cheek sat at the small table

  below the curved dais in the underground strategy room of the White House.

  The flesh on his square face was taut, held in place by the sutures beneath

  the brown adhesive; the effect was robotlike, macabre. His replies in a

  subdued monotone to the questions put to him heightened the image of a man

  not totally whole, yet overcontrolled. In truth, be was afraid; the agent of

  record from Col des Moulinets would have been more afraid thirty-five

  minutes before, when the panel of men facing him was complete. There had

  been four men then; now there were only three. The President had removed

  himself. He was observing the proceedings from an unseen cubicle behind the

  platform, through a pane of coated glass that was part of the inner wall and

  indistinguishable from it. Words were being said in the room that could not

  be said in his presence; he could not bear witness to orders of dispatch at

  an Alpine pass, and prior communications that included the phrase "beyond

  salvage."

  The interrogation was at midpoint, Undersecretary of State Emory Bradford

  probing the salient points while Ambassador Brooks and General Halyard made

  notes on their pads under the harsh glare of the Tensor lamps.

  272

  Tim PARswAL MosAic273

  'Let me get this clear," said Bradford. "You were the field officer of

  record and the only one in contact with Rome. Is that correctr

  "Yes, sir."

  "And you're absolutely certain no other member of the unit was in touch

  with the embassy?"

  "Yes, sir. No, sir. I was the only channel. It's standard, not only for the

  security blackout, but to make sure tbere~s no foul-up in the orders. One

  man transmits them, one man receives them."

  "Yet you say Havelock referred to two of the unit's personnel as explosives

  specialists, a fact you were not aware of."

  "I wasn't."

  "But as the field officer of record-2'

  "Agent of record, sir."

  "Sorry. As the agent of record, shouldn't you have known?"

  "Normally, I would have."

  "But you weren't and the on
ly explanation you can give us Is that this new

  recruit, a Corsican named Ricci, hired the two men in question."

  "It's the only reason I can think of. If Havelock was right; if he wasn't

  lying."

  Me reports from Col des Moulinets stated that there were numerous

  explosions in the vicinity of the bridge's entrance at the time." Bradford

  scanned a typewritten page in front of him. "Including a massive detonation

  in the road that occurred approximately twelve minutes after the con-

  frontation, killing three Italian soldiers and four civilians. Obviously,

  Havelock knew what be was talking about; he wasn't lying to you."

  "I wouldn't know, sir. I was unconscious . . . bleeding. Ile son

  of-Havelock cut me up."

  "You're getting proper medical attention?" interrupted Ambassador Brodip,

  looking up~-from the yellow pad under the Tensor lamp.

  "I guess so," replied the agent, his right band slipping over his left

  wrist, his fingers massaging the glistening stainlesssteel case of his

  chronometer. "Except the doctors aren't sure the wounds'll require plastic

  surgery. I think I should have it..

  "rhat!s their province, of course," said the statesman.

  274 ROBERT LuDLum

  "I'm ... valuable, sir. Without that surgery rm markedsir."

  "I'M sure Undersecretary Bradford will convey your feelings to Walter

  Reed," said the general, reading his notes.

  "You say you never saw this man Ricci," continued Bradford, "prior to the

  brieflng in Rome, just before the unit flew to Col des Moulinets. Is that

  correct?'

  "Yes, sir. No, sir. I never saw him. He was new."

  "And you didn't see him when you regained consciousness after the events at

  the bridge?"

  "No, I didn't."

  'You don't know where he went?"

  "No, sir."

  "Neither does Rome," added the undersecretary quietly, pointedly.

  "I learned that an Italian soldier was hit by a truck and was pretty badly

  mangled, screaming his head off. Someone said he had blond hair, so I

  figured it was Ricci."

  "And?"

  "A man came out of the woods-someone with a gash in his head-put the

  soldier in a car, and drove him away."

  "How did you learn this?"

  "I asked questions, a lot of questions ... after I got f1rst aid. That was

  my job, sir. It was a madhouse up there, Italians and French yelling all

  over the place. But I didn't leave until I found out everything I

  could-without permitting anyone to ask me questions."

  'You're to be commended," said the ambassador.

  'nank you, sir."

  "Lees assume you're right." Bradford leaned forward. -ne blond man was

  Ricci, and someone with a bead wound got him out of there. Have you any

  idea who that someone might be?"

  "I think so. One of the men he brought with him. The other was killed."

  "So Ricci and this other man got away. But Rome basn7t heard from Ricci.

  Would you say thaes normal?"

  "No way, sir. It's not normal at all. Whenever any of those people are

  damaged, they bleed us for everything they can get, and they don't waste

  time about it. Our policy in black operations is clear. If we can't

  evacuate the wounded-2'

  "I think we understand," interrupted Halyard, an old so]- Tr-rE PARszFAL Mosvic275

  dfer's antennae picking up a signal couched in a soldier's vocabulary.

  "Then it's your opinion that if Ricci and this demolitions expert got away

  intact, theyd have reached our embassy in Rome as quickly as they could."

  "Yes, sir. With their hands out and shouting all the way. They would have

  expected attention pronto and threatened us with the kind we don't want if

  they didn't get it."

  "What do you think happened?"

  "rd say ies pretty obvious. They didn't make it."

  "What was that?" asked Brooks.

  "There isn~t any other explanation. I know those people, sir. Tley're

  garbage; they'd kill their mothers if the price was right. They would have

  been in touch with Rome, believe me."

  "'Didn't make it?" repeated Halyard, staring at the man from Col des

  Moulinets. "What do you mean?'

  "The roads, sir. They wind up and down those mountains like corkscrews,

  sometimes without lights for miles at a time. A wounded man driving, the

  other one banged up and screaming; that vehicWs a candidate for a long fall

  up there."

  "Head wounds can be deceptive," Halyard commented. "A bloody nose looks a

  bell of a lot worse than it is."

  "It strikes me," said Brooks, "that same man acted with considerable

  presence of mind amid the cbaos. He functioned--"

  "Forgive me, Mr. Ambassador," interrupted Bradford, his voice rising

  slightly but deferentially. The intrusion was not a breach of manners but

  a signal. "I think the field officer's point is well taken. A thorough

  search of those roads will undoubtedly reveal a car somewhere at the bottom

  of a precipice."

  Brooks exchanged looks with the man from State; the signal was

  acknowledged. "Yes, of course. Realistically, there is no other

  explanation."

  "Just one or two more points and we're finished," said Bradford,

  rearranging his papers. "As you know, whatever is said here is

  confidential. There are no hidden microphones, no recording devices; the

  words spoken here are stored only in our memories. This is for the

  protection of all of us-not

  276 Roi3ERT LuDLum

  just you-so feel perfectly free to speak candidly. Don't try to soften the

  truth; we're in the same boat."

  "I understand, sir."

  "Your orders with regard to Havelock were unequivocal. He was officially

  classified 'beyond salvage' and the word from Rome was to terminate with

  'extreme prejudice.' Is that correct?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "In other words, he was to be executed. Killed at Col des Moulinets."

  "That's what it meant"

  "And you received those instructions from the senior attacb6, Consular

  Operations, Rome. A man named Warren. Harry Warren."

  "Yes, sir. I was in constant touch with him, waiting for the determination

  . . . waiting for Washington to give it to him..

  "How could you be certain the man you spoke with was Harry Warren?"

  The agent seemed perplexed, as if the question were foolish, though the man

  who asked it was not foolish at all. "Among other things, I worked with

  Harry for over two years. I knew his voice."

  "Just his voice?"

  "And the number in Rome. It was a direct line to the embassy's radio room,

  unlisted and very classified. I knew that, too."

  "Did it occur to you that when be gave you your flnal instructions be might

  have been doing so under duress? Against his will?"

  No, sir, not at all."

  'It never crossed your mindr

  "If that had been the case, he would have told me.*

  'With a gun at his head?" said Halyard. "How?"

  "The code had been established and he used it. He wouldn't have if there'd

  been anything wrong."

  'Explain that, please," said Brooks. "What code?"

  "A word or a couple of words that originate in Washington. They're referred

  to when decisio
ns are transmitted; that way you know the authorization's

  there without naming names. If anything had been wrong, Harry wouldnI have

  used the code, and I would have known something wasn't

  THE PARsrFAL MosAic277

  right. Ird have asked for it and be would have given me a different one. He

  didn~t and I didn't. He used the correct one up front.-

  "What was the code for Col des Moulinets?" asked Emory Bradford.

  "Ambiguity, sir. It came direct from Cons Op, Washington, and will be

  listed in the embassy telephone logs, classified files."

  "Which is proof of authorization," said Bradford, making a statement.

  "Yes, sir. Dates, times and origins of clearance are in those logs."

  Bradford held up an eigbt-by-ten-inch photograph of a man's face, adjusting

  the Tensor lamp so it could be seen clearly. "Is this Harry Warren?"

  "Yes, sir. That's Harry."

  'Thank you." The undersecretary put down the photograph and made a check

  mark on the border of his notes. "Let me go back a bit; there's something

  I'm not sure is clear. Regarding the woman, she was to be sent across the

  border unharmed, if possible. Is that correct?"

  Me operative words were 'if possible.' Nobody was going to risk anything

  for her. She was just a needle."

  "A needler

  "To stick into the Soviets. Let Moscow know we didn't buy the plant."

  "Meaning she was a Russian device. A woman similar in appearance-perbaps

  someone who bad undergone cosmetic surgery-wbom the Soviets surfaced

  repeatedly at selected locations for Havelock's benefit, letting him get

  close, but never close enough to take her. Is that what you mean?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "The purpose being to shock Havelock into a state of mental instability, to

  the point of defection?"

  "To drive him nuts, yes, sir. I guess it worked; the 'beyond salvage' came

  from Washington."

  "From Ambiguity."

  "Ambiguity, sir."

  "Whose identity can be traced in the embassy's telephone logs."

  "Yes, sir. The logs."

  278 ROBEIRT LUDLUM

  "So it was established beyond doubt that the woman at the bridge was not

  Jenna Karas."

  "Beyond doubt. She was killed at Costa Brava, everyone knew that. Havelock

  himself was the agent of record at that beach. He went crazy."

  Ambassador Brooks slapped down his pencil and leaned forward, studying the