Robert Ludlum - The Parcifal Mosaic.txt

by The Parcifal Mosaic [lit]

  man from Col des Moulinets. The sharp, echoing crack of the pencil, and the

  movement itself, were more than an interruption; they combined to indicate

  an objection. "This entire operation, didn't it strike you as ... well,

  bizarre, to say the least? To be quite candid, was execution the only

  solution? Knowing what you all knewpresumed you knew-couldn't you have

  tried to take the man, spare his life, get him back here for treatment?"

  "With respect, sir, that's a lot easier said than done. Jack Ogilvie tried

  in Rome and never left the Palatine. Havelock killed three men on that

  bridge that we know of; another two may be dead by now and probably are. He

  dug a knife into my face-He's a psycbo." The agent paused, not fiqisbed.

  "Yes, sir. All things considered, we kill him. That's 'beyond salvage,' and

  has nothing to do with me. I follow orders."

  "An all too familiar phrase, sir," said Brooks.

  "But justified under the circumstances," Bradford broke in quickly, writing

  out the word Ambiguity on the page in front of him and continuing before

  anyone else could speak, or object. "What happened to Havelock? Did you

  learn?"

  "They said an assassino pazzo-crazy man, killer-drove the truck hellbent

  across the bridge and out of sight. It had to be Havelock. There are alerts

  out all through the provinces-the towns and cities and up and down the

  Mediterranean coast. He worked the coast; he'll get in touch with someone

  and they'll find him. They said he was wounded; he won't get far. My guess

  is a couple of days at the outside, and I wish I was there to take him

  myself."

  "Again quite justified," said Bradford. "And we want to thank you for your

  cooperation this evening. You've been very concise and helpful. You may

  leave now, and good luck to YOU."

  The man got out of the chair, nodded awkwardly and walked to the door. He

  stopped, touching his left cheek and

  TnE PARsrjirAL MosAic279

  the tape as he turned to face the powerful men on the dais. "I'm worth the

  surgery," be said.

  "I'm sure you are," replied the undersecretary.

  The agent of record from Col des Moulinets opened the door and stepped out

  into the wbite-walled corridor. The instant the door was shut, Halyard

  turned to Bradford and shouted, "Get hold of Romel Get those logs and find

  this Ambiguityl It's what you were trying to tell us, isn7t it? This is the

  link to Parsifall"

  "Yes, General," answered Bradford. "The Ambiguity code was established by

  the director of Consular Operations, Daniel Stem, whose name appears in the

  embassy logs, entered by the Cons Op senior attach6, Harry Warren. Warren

  was clear in his entry; the transcript was read to me. He wrote the

  following"--tbe undersecretary picked up a note on top of his

  papers-"'Code: Ambiguity. Subject: M. Havelock. Decision pending.'"

  "'Pending'?" asked Brooks. "When was it made?"

  "According to the embassy logs, it wasn't. There were no further entries

  that night making any reference whatsoever to Ambiguity, Havelock, or the

  unit at Col des Mouhnets."

  "Impossible," protested the general. "You heard that man. The go-ahead was

  given, the authorization code was delivered. He didn't mince words. That

  call had to have come through."

  "it did."

  "Are you saying that the entry was deleted?" asked Brooks.

  "It was never made," said Bradford. "Warren never made ft."

  "Then get him," said Halyard. "Nail him. He knows who he talked to. Goddamn

  it, Emory, get on that phone. This is Parsifall" He turned in his chair,

  addressing the wall. "Mr. President?"

  There was no reply.

  The undersecretary separated the papers in front of him and removed a thin

  manila envelope from the rest. He opened it, took out a second photograph

  and banded it to the former ambassador. Brooks studied it, a sharp intake

  of breath accompanying his first glance. Silently he passed it to Halyard.

  "Iesta Halyard placed the photograph under the beam of the Tensor. The

  surface was grainy, the infinitesimal

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  lines the result of a transmitting machine, but the image was clear. It was

  a photograph of a corpse stretched out on a white table, the clothes tom and

  bloody, the face bruised terribly but wiped clean for identification. The

  face of the dead man was the same as that in the first photograph Bradford

  had shown the agent from Col des Moulinets only minutes before. It belonged

  to Harry Warren, senior attach6, Cons Op, Rome.

  "That was telexed to us at one o'clock this afternoon. It's Warren. He was

  run down on the Via Frascatti in the early hours of the morning two days

  ago. There were witnesses, but they couldn't help much, except to tell our

  people the car was a large sedan with a powerful engine; it roared down the

  street, apparently gathering speed just before impact. Whoever drove it

  wasn't taking any chances of missing; he caught Warren stepping onto the

  curb and hammered him into the pole of a streetlight, doing considerable

  damage to the automobile. The police are searching for it, but there's not

  much hope. It's probably at the bottom of a river in the hills."

  "So the link is gone." Halyard pushed the photograph toward Brooks.

  "I mourn the man," said the undersecretary, "but I'm not sure bow much of

  a link be was."

  "Someone thought so," said the soldier.

  "Or was covering a flank."

  "What do you mean?" asked Brooks.

  "Whoever made that final call authorizing 'beyond salvage couldn't know

  what Stem told Warren. All we know is that the decision hadn't been made."

  "Please be clearer," the statesman insisted.

  "Suppose the strategists of Consular Operations decided they couldn't reach

  a decision. On the surface, it wouldn't appear that difficult-a psychopath,

  a rogue agent capable of causing extraordinary damage, a potential

  defector, a killerthe decision wasn't one that stretched their consciences.

  But suppose they learned something, or suspected something, that called

  everything into question.-

  "The Karas woman," said Halyard.

  "Perhaps. Or maybe a communication, or a signal from Havelock that

  contradicted the assumption that he was a

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  maniac. That he was as sane as they were; a sane man caught in a terrible

  dilemma not of his own making."

  "Which is, of course, the truth," interrupted Brooks quietly.

  "The truth," agreed Bradford. "What would they do?"

  "Get help," said Halyard. "Advice."

  "Guidance," added the statesman.

  "Or practically speaking," said the undersecretary, 'especially if the

  facts weren~t clear, theyd spread the responsibility for the decision.

  Hours later it was made, and they were dead ... and we don't know who made

  it, who placed that final call. We only know it was someone sufficiently

  cleared, sufficiently trusted to be given the code Ambiguity. That man made

  the decision; be made the call to Rome."

  "But Warren didn't log it," said Brooks. "Why didn~t he? How could it

  bappenP"

  "The way ies happened bef
ore, Mr. Ambassador. A routed line traceable only

  to a single telephone complex somewhere in Arlington is used, the

  authorization verified by code, and a request made on the basis of internal

  security. There is to be no log, no tape, no reference to the transmission;

  it's an order, actually. The recipient is flattered; he's been chosen,

  deemed by men who make important decisions to be more reliable than those

  around him. And what difference does it make? The authorization can always

  be traced through the code-in this case through the director of Cons Op,

  Daniel Stem. Only, hes dead."

  "It's appalling," said Brooks, looking down at his notes. "A man is to be

  executed because he's right, and when the attempt fails, he's held

  responsible for the death of those who try to kill him and labeled a killer

  himself . And we don't know who officially gave the order. We can~t find

  him. What kind of people are we?"

  "Men who keep secrets." The voice came from behind the dais. The President

  of the United States emerged from the white-paneled door set into the white

  wall. "Forgive me, I was watching you, listening. It's often helpful."

  "Secrets, Mr. President?"

  "Yes, Mal," said Berquist, going to his chair. "The words are all there,

  arerA they? Top Secret, Eyes Only, Highly Classified, Maximum Clearance

  Required, Duplication Forbidden, Authorization to Be Accompanied by Access

  Code

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  ... so many words. We sweep rooms and telephone lines with instruments that

  tell us whether bugs and intercepts have been placed, and then develop

  hardware that misdirects those same scanners when we implant our own

  devices. We jam radio broadcasts-including satellite transmissions-and

  override the jamming with laser beams that carry the words we want to send.

  We put a national security lid on information we don't want made public so

  we can leak selected sections at will, keeping the rest inviolate. We tell

  a certain agency or department one thing and another something else

  entirely, so as to conceal a third set of facts-the damaging truth., In

  historys most advanced age of communications, we're doing our damnedest to

  louse it up, to misuse it, really." The President sat down, looked at the

  photograph of the dead man in Rome, and turned it over. "Keeping secrets and

  diverting the flow of accurate information have become prime objectives in

  our ever-expanding technology-of cominunications. Ironic, isn't it?"

  "Unfortunately, often vital, sir," said Bradford.

  "Perhaps. If only we could be certain when we applied them. I often

  wonder-late at night, watching the lights on the ceiling as rm trying to

  sleep-if we hadn't tried to keep a secret three months ago, whether we

  would be faced with what we're faced with now."

  "Our options were extremely limited, Mr. President," the undersecretary

  said firmly. "We might have faced worse."

  'Worse, Emory?"

  "Earlier, then. Time is the only thing on our side."

  "And we have to use every goddamn minute," agreed Berquist, glancing first

  at the general and then at Brooks. "Now you~re both aware of wbat's

  happened during the past seventy-two hours and why I had to call you back

  to Washington.0

  ~Except the most relevant factor," said the statesman. 'Parsifars

  reaction.-

  'None," replied the President.

  'Ilen he doesiA know," said Halyard rapidly, emphatically.

  "If you'd get that written in stone, I could sleep at night," said

  Berquist.

  "When did he last communicate with you?" asked Brooks.

  "Sixteen days ago. There was no point in reaching you; it

  THE PARSIFAL MOSAJC283

  was another demand, as outrageous as the others and now as pointless."

  "There's been no movement on the previous demands?' continued the

  statesman.

  "Nothing. As of fifteen days ago we've funneled eight hundred million

  dollars into banks throughout the Bahamas, the Caymans and Central America.

  We've set up every--" The President paused as he touched the photograph in

  front of him, folding a comer until part of a bloodied trouser leg could be

  seen. "-every code and countercode be's asked for, so he could verify the

  deposits whenever be wished, have the monies sent to blind accounts in

  Zurich and Bem where they would be accessible to him. He hasn't moved a

  cent, and except for three verifications he's made no contact at all with

  the other banks. He has no interest in the money; it's only a means of

  confirming our vulnerability. He knows we'll do anything be asks." Berquist

  paused again; when he spoke, his voice was barely audible. "God help us, we

  can't afford not to..

  There was silence on the dais, an acknowledgment of the unthinkable. it was

  broken by the general's businesslike comment. "There are a couple of holes

  here," he said, reading his notes, then looking at the undersecretary. "Can

  you fill them in?"

  . I can speculate," replied Bradford. "But to do even that, we~ve got to go

  back to the very beginning. Before Rome."

  "Costa Brava?" asked Brooks disdainfully.

  "Before then, Mr. Ambassador. To when we all agreed there bad to be a Costa

  Brava."

  "I stand rebuked," said the statesman icily. "Please go on."

  "We go back to when we learned that it was Matthias himself who initiated

  the investigation of jenna Karas. It was the great man himself, not his

  aides, who relayed information from unnamed informants, sources so deep in

  Soviet intelligence that even to speculate on their identities was tanta-

  mount to exposing our own operations."

  "Don't be modest, Emory," interrupted the President. "We didn't learn that

  it was Matthias. You did. You had the perspicacity to go around the 'great

  man,' as you call him."

  "Only with a sense of sadness, sir. It was you, Mr. President, who demanded

  the truth from one of his aides in the Oval Office and he gave it to you.

  He said they didiet

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  )mow where the information bad come from, only that Matthias himself bad

  brought it in. He never would have told me that."

  "The room did it, I didn't," said Berquist. "You don't lie to the man

  sitting in that room ... unless you're Anthony Matthias."

  "In fairness, Mr. President," said Brooks softly, "his intention was not to

  deceive you. He believed he was right."

  "He believed he should have been sitting in my chair, my officel Good

  Christ, be still believes it. Even nowl There's no end to his goddamned

  megalomanial Go on, Emory."

  "Yes, sir." Bradford looked up. "We concluded that Matthias's objective was

  to force Havelock to'retire, to get his old student and one of the best men

  we bad out of Consular Operations. We've covered that before; we didn't

  know why then and we don~t know why now."

  "But we went along," said Berquist, "because we didn't know what we bad. A

  broken foreign service officer who didn~t want to 90 on, or a fraud-worse

  than a fraud. Matthias's lackey, willing to see a woman killed so he could

  work for the great man on the outside. Oh, and the work be could have donel
r />   The international emissary for Saint Matthias. Or was it Emperor Matthias,

  ruler of all the states and territories of the republic?"

  "Come on, Charley." Halyard touched the President's arm; no one else in

  that room would have risked such an intimate gesture. "It's over. It's not

  why we're here."

  "If it wasn't for that son of a bitch Matthias we wouldn't be beret I find

  that hard to forget. And so could the world one day ... if there's anyone

  left with a memory."

  "Then may we return to that infinitely more ominous crisis, Mr. PresidentP"

  said Brooks gently.

  Berquist leaned back; he looked at the aristocratic statesman, then at the

  old general. "When Bradford came to me and convinced me that there was a

  pattern of deception at the highest levels of State involving the great

  Anthony Matthias, I asked for you two-and only you two. At least, for now.

  I'd better be able to take your criticism, because you'll give it to me."

  "Which I think is why you asked for us," said Halyard. .Sir..

  'Yotere a ball-breaker, Mal." The President nodded toward

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  the man from State. "Sorry. All right, we didn~t know then, and we don't

  know now, why Matthias wanted Havelock out. But Emory brought us the

  scenario."

  "An incredible scenario," agreed Bradford, his hands on top of the papers,

  no longer needing his notes. "The case that Matthias concocted against the

  Karas woman was a study in meticulous invention. A reformed terrorist from

  Baader-Meinhof suddenly appears looking for absolution; hell trade in-

  formation for relocation and the cancellation of his death sentence. Bonn

  agrees-reluctantly-and we buy his story. The woman working with a Cons Op

  field officer then in Barcelona is actually a member of the KGB. A method

  of transferring orders is described, which entails the passing of a key,

  and a small overnight suitcase is located at an airport, her suitcase,

  filled with all the evidence needed to convict her-detailed analyses of the

  activities she and Havelock had been involved with during the past five

  weeks, summaries of in-depth, classified information Havelock had sent back

  to the State Department, and copies of the current codes and radio

  frequencies we used in the fleld. Also in that overnight bag were

  instructions from Moscow, including the KGB code that she was to employ