Robert Ludlum - The Parcifal Mosaic.txt

by The Parcifal Mosaic [lit]

  confirmed whereabouts of all nineteen State Department personnel from the

  fifth floor, L Section, who were not in Washington during the week of Costa

  Brava. When he finished, each man~s expression conveyed both pain and

  frustration, none more so than the Presidenes. He leaned forward on the

  dais, his heavy Scandinavian face wom and lined, his intelligent eyes angry.

  "You were so sure this morning," he said. "You told me five were missing,

  five not accounted for. What happened?"

  "I was wrong, Mr. President."

  "Goddamn it, I didet want to hear that."

  "Neither did King Richard when news reached him. that Richmond had landed~"

  said Addison Brooks, quietly. "He struck down the messenger."

  Berquist turned to his ambassador, studying him before replying, "Richard

  the Third had already received two messages he considered hes. He could

  have been testing the latest."

  Brooks shook his head, admiration in his eyes. "You constantly amaze me,

  Mr. President."

  "I shouldn't. You worked for Truman. He knew more about history than all

  the Commagers and Schlesingers put together. Ive done some reading myself,

  and this is a waste of time." Berquist turned back to the undersecretary of

  State. "Who were the five?"

  "The woman who was having surgery. It was an abortion. Her husband's a

  lawyer and has been in protracted litigation at The Hague for several

  months. They've been apart. The picture was pretty clear."

  "How could you even consider a woman?" demanded Halyard. "No double

  standard implied, but a woman would leave her mark somewhere."

  "Not if she-through Moscow-controlled men. Actually, I was quite excited

  when her name surfaced. I thought, Good Cod, ies perfect. It wasn7t."

  RoBERT LuDLum

  "Keep it surgery, and tell that to wbomever you spoke with. Who were the

  others?"

  "The two attach6s at our embassy in Mexico. They'd been recalled for

  cbange-of-policy briefings, then didn~t return to Mexico City until January

  fifth."

  "ExplanationF' asked the President.

  "Furlough time. They went their separate ways and their families joined

  them. One to a ski lodge in Vermont, the other to the Caribbean.

  Credit-card charges confirmed everything.

  "Who else?" pressed Berquist.

  "Arthur Pierce."

  "Pierce?" interrupted the general, startled. "The fellow at the U.N. nowF'

  "Yes, General."

  'I could have straightened you out there. So could have Addison here."

  "So would Matthias," agreed Bradford. "If there was anyone at State who

  maintained clear access to Matthias for a longer period of time, I don~t

  know who it is. He appointed Pierce to the U.N. with the obvious intention

  of submitting him for the ambassadorship."

  "If youll permit me the correction," said Berquist, "I appointed him after

  Matthias gave him to us and then took him away. He worked over here with

  the NSC for a couple of months last year before the great man said he was

  needed in New York."

  "And he was one fellow I told the Pentagon to bribe the hell out of,"

  exclaimed the general. "I wanted to keep him in the army; he was too good

  to lose. He didn't like that mess in Southeast Asia any more than I did,

  but his record was as good as mine.... Let's face it; it was a damn sight

  better."

  The ambassador leaned back in his chair. "I know Pierce. He was brought to

  my attention by an old-line career foreign officer. I suppose I was as

  responsible as anyone for bringing him into the State Department. Knowing

  what I do, Iowa farm boy, rather humble beginnings, I believe, and then a

  brilliant academic record, everything on scholarship. He was one of the few

  in this day and age who really went from rags to riches. Well, influential

  if not literally rich, but he could have been. A dozen or so of the

  countrys largest corporations were after him, not to mention Rand and the

  Brookings

  THE PARsiiFAL MosAic343

  Institution. I was persuasive and quite practical. Patriotism aside, I

  pointed out that a tour of duty with the Department of State could only

  enhance his value in the marketplace. Of course, hes still a relatively

  young man; with his accomplishments, if he leaves government, he'll be able

  to name his own price anywhere. He's cornstalk American success storyhow

  could you possibly conceive of a Moscow connection?"

  "I didn't preconceive anything, especially not in this case," said

  Bradford. "Arthur Pierce is a friend-and I don't have many. I - consider

  him one of the best men we have at State. But in spite of our friendship,

  I went by the reports given me. Only me, incidentally. Not to my secretary

  or any assistant. Only to me."

  "What did you get that made you think Pierce could possibly have anything

  to do with Soviet intelligence? Christ, he's mother, God, apple pie and the

  flag."

  "An error in the U.N. message logs. The initial report showed that during

  the last days of December and the first three days of January-the week of

  Costa Brava-Pierce hadn!t responded to four separate queries from the

  Middle East Section. Then, of course, they showed up-four replies that

  could be entered in a diplomatic analyses handbook. They were as

  penetrating as anything I've read on that area and dovetailed with the

  specific proceedings in the Security Council. As a matter of fact, they

  were used to block a particularly aggressive Soviet proposal."

  "The error in the logs was the explanation?" said Brooks.

  'Maes the maddening thing. There's always an explanation, then a

  confirmation of an explanation. Message traffic's so heavy, twenty percent

  of it gets misplaced. Pierc&s responses had been there all along."

  "Who's the last man?" Berquist was not going to let up. From his eyes it

  was apparent he could not readily accept the altered findings.

  "One I was so convinced might be the mole that I nearly had a VVI-iite

  House Secret Service detail pick him up. Thank God I di(Wt; he's volatile,

  a screamer."

  "Who?"

  "Nikolai Sit3inarin. Bom and raised in Leningrad, parents dissident

  immigrants over a dozen years ago. He's the State Departmenes: most

  accomplished analyst of Soviet internal affairs, j3roven accurate about

  seventy percent. Hes a prize,

  3"RoBEIRT LuDLum

  and in his case I thought, What, better way for Moscow to put a mole into

  the ground? An eighteen-year-old son of immigrants, dissidents permitted a

  family visa when.they were damned hard to come by."

  "Is Sitmarin Jewishr asked the general.

  "No, but I expect most people think be is; in my view it added to his

  cover. Soviet dissidence isn't the exclusive province of Russian Jews,

  although that seems to be the general impression. Also, he's received a

  fair amount of media exposure-the thirty-year-old Wunderkind carrying out

  a personal vendetta. It all seemed so logically convoluted, so right."

  "What were the circumstances?" The President's words were clipped.

  "Again, an unexplained absence. He was gone from his office from

  mid-Christmas week until January eighth. H
e just wasn!t in Washington and

  no assignment was listed for his not being here. I had a time-stat man call

  the section head; the explanation was given."

  "VVIhich was?" pressed Berquist.

  "A personal leave was granted. Sitmarin7s mother was gravely ill in

  Chicago."

  "Pretty damned convenient illness, wasn't it?"

  "So much so she nearly died. The Cook County General Hospital confirmed

  it."

  "But she didnt die," interrupted Brooks.

  'I spoke personally to the physician of record and he had a very clear idea

  of the gravity of my inquiry. He quoted from his files."

  "Have them sent to you," ordered the President. "There are too damned many

  explanations; one of them's a he."

  "I agree, but which one?" added Bradford. "Not just these five, but the

  entire nineteen. Someone who thinks he's-or she~s-doing a superior a

  harmless favor is concealing Ambiguity from us, hiding the mole. What7s

  going down as a few extra days' skiing or going to the Caribbean or

  shacking up-excuse me.

  "Oh, for Christ's sake. Go back and tear into every explanation given you.

  Find one that won't hold up."

  "One that has a discrepancy in it," added the ambassador. "Meetings that

  didn't take place, a conference that was postpoued, credit-card charges

  where the signatures are question-

  Tim PAnsl7AL MosAic345

  able-a gravely ill woman who just may have been given an assumed name."

  "ItIl take time," said the undersecretary.

  "You've accomplished a great deal in something over twelve hours,"

  continued Brooks sympathetically. "Again, I commend you."

  'And you have the authority of this office to get you what you need,

  anything you need. Use itl Find the molel" Berquist shook his head In

  exasperation. "He and we are in a race after a madman we call Parsifal. If

  the Soviets reach him first, this country has no viable foreign policy. And

  if Parsifal panics, it won't make a damn bit of difference." The President

  put his bands on the dais. "Is there anything else? I'm keeping two curious

  senators waiting and it's no time to do it. They're on the Foreign

  Relations Committee and I've a gut feeling theVve got wind of Matthias."

  Berquist stopped; he got up and looked at Bradford. "Reassure me again-that

  emT man at Poole's Island is secure."

  "Yes, sir. Each was screened down to his fingernails, and no one leaves

  that island for the duration."

  "That, too, will ran its conrse," said Brooks. "What is the duration? Ies

  an unnatural condition."

  "These are unnatural circumstances," broke in General Halyard. "The patrols

  are armed, the place a fortress."

  "Armed?" The President spoke softly, in his own personal anguish. "Of

  course, theVre armed. Insanel"

  "What about Havelockr asked the statesman. "Has there been anything?-

  "No," replied the commander in chief, leaving the dais and heading for the

  door. "Call me later, Mr. Undersecretary," he said without explanation.

  "Call me at three o'clock."

  The snow, though not heavy, was a whipping snow. It careened off the

  windshield, tiny white flakes targeting into the glass and bouncing silently

  away like thousands of miniature asteroids passing through galactic space.

  Havelock, in his rented car, had driven past the sign several minutes be-

  fore, the letters reflected in the headlights: mAsoN FAIM 3

  bMES.

  He bad checked out of the King's Arms Hotel, relieved to see a different

  clerk on duty, and had taken a cab to LaGuardia'Airport. A hastily

  purchased map pinpointed Mason

  346 RoBERT LuDLum

  Falls, Pennsylvania; his only choice was a domestic flight to Pittsburgh. He

  was not at the time concerned with further Soviet surveillance. The Russian

  he had trapped had undoubtedly reported his arrival, but even if he had not,

  LaGuardia was not an international terminal. No diplomatic personnel came

  through its gates on overseas flights.

  He had been issued a last-moment seat on US Air's 7:56 P.m. plane, reached

  Pittsburgh by nine-fifteen, and rented a car, the signed credit Shp

  permitting him to drop it off at any Hertz location. By nine-forty-five he

  was driving - south through the long stretches of dark countryside on Route

  51.

  "ON ]FALLS

  ESTABLISIBED 1858

  Through the swirling pockets of snow-thicker now, fuller-Michael could see

  the glow of a red neon sign up ahead on the right. He approached, slowing

  down, and read the letters; a touch of the absurd had intruded: EiAmRy's

  BAn. Either someone along the banks of the Monongahela had a sense of

  humor, or there was a man named Harry who did not know how far away he was

  from Venice or Paris. Or perhaps he did.

  He obviously did. Inside, there were enlarged World War II photographs on

  the walls depicting Parisian scenes, several showing a soldier standing

  outside the door of Paris's HarrYs Bar on the Right Bank. The place was

  rustic-thick wood dulled by use and totally untouched by furniture Polish-

  heavy glasses and high-backed barstools. A jukebox in the comer was

  bleating out country music to the bored halfdozen or so patrons at the bar.

  They were in keeping with their surroundings: everyone male, a profusion of

  red-checkered flannel shirts, wide-ribbed corduroy trousers and anklelength

  boots wom in the fields and in barns. These were farmers and farmhands; he

  might have assumed as much from the pickup trucks outside, but the biting

  wind had distracted him-that and the fact that he was in Mason Falls,

  Pennsylvania.

  He looked around for a wall telephone; it was inapproPriately placed six

  feet from the jukebox. That did not concern him, but the absence of a

  telephone book did; he needed an address. There. had been no time at

  LaGuardia to find the

  THE PAmwAL Mosmc 347

  correct book for Mason Falls, and as Pittsburgh was ptn international

  airport, he wanted to get out of the terminal as fast as possible. He walked

  to the bar, stood between two empty stools, and waited for an aging,

  morose-looking Harry to serve him.

  Yeah, what'll it be?-

  "Scotch on the rocks, and a telephone book, if you've got one, please."

  The owner studied Havelock briefly. "I don1 get much call for Scotch. it

  aiet the best."

  "I probably wouldidt know the best."

  "Ies your throat." Harry reached under the bar to his right, but Instead of

  coming up with a glass and ice, he put a thin telephone book in front of

  Michael. He then walked to his left, to a row of bottles on a lighted

  shelf.

  Havelock leafed through the pages rapidly, his index finger descending the

  row of ICs.

  Kohoutek Janos RFD 3 Box 12

  Goddamn itl

  Rural Free Delivery, routing number 3, could be anywhere in Mason Falls,

  which, although small in population, was large in square mileage. Acres and

  acres of farmland, winding roads that threaded through the countryside. And

  to call the number was to give an alarm; if there were special words, be

  did not know them, and all things considered, there undoubtedly were
/>
  special words. To mention Jacob Handelman over the phone was asking for a

  confirmation call to be made to New York. There would be no answer on the

  dead halfway maes phone until he was found, possibly in the morning,

  possibly not for several days.

  "Here yare," said Harry, placing the drink on the bar.

  "Would you know a man named Koboutekr asked Havelock softly. "Janos

  Kohoutek?"

  The owner squinted in minor thought. "Know the name, not him, though. Hes

  one of them foreigners with some land over in the west end."

  "Would you know where in the west endF'

  "No. Doesn't it tell you thereF' Harry gestured at the telephone book.

  "It only gives an RFD and a box number."

  "Call him, for Chrises sake."

  348 ROBERT LUDLUM

  "rd rather not. As you say, hes a foreigner; he might not understand over

  the phone."

  "Heyl" yelled Harry over the sounds of the country music. "Any you assholes

  know a guy named Kohoutek?"

  "Foreigner," said one red-checkered flannel shirt.

  "He~s got more'n forty acres over west,' added a hunting cap farther down.

  "Fuckin' refugees with their government handouts can afford it. We can~t."

  "Would you know where?" asked Havelock.

  "Ies either on Chamberlain or Youngfield, maybe Fourforks, I donI know

  which. Don't it say in the book?"

  "No, just RFD-three, that's all. And a box number."

  "Route three," said another patron, this one with a growth of beard and

  bleary eyes. "Thaes Davey Hooker's route. He's a carrier, and that son of

  a bitch soaks 'em. Got the job through his uncle, the fuckin' grafter."

  'Would you know where the route is?"

  "Sure. Fourforks Pike. Heads due west from the depot a mile down

  Fifty-one."

  "Thanks very much." Michael raised the glass to his lips and drar& It was

  not very good; it was not even Scotch. He reached into his pocket, pulled

  out his money, and left two dollars on the bar. "Thanks again," he said to

  the owner.

  "Ies sixty cents," said Harry.

  "For old times' sake," replied Havelock. "For the other place in Paris."

  "Hey, you been there?"

  "Once or twice."

  'You shoulda told mel You woulda gotten decent whiskyl Let me tell you, in

  '45 me and-"