Robert Ludlum - The Parcifal Mosaic.txt

by The Parcifal Mosaic [lit]

  understanding."

  "Yes, I remember. You didn't care to be seen with him."

  "I'd put it differently. I'd have been honored-I mean that,

  ThE PARsiFAL MosAic 487

  honored-to have been seen with him. It just wasn7t a very good idea, for

  either of us."

  "But if it waset during those two days, when was it? When could you have

  seen Parsifal?"

  Michael looked at her, feeling helpless. "rd have to go back over half a

  lifetime, thaes part of the madness. In his fantasy, he sees me leaving a

  conference; that could be anything from a classroom to a seminar to a

  lecture hall. How many were there? Fifty, a hundred, a thousand?

  Post-graduate degrees take time. How many have I forgotten? Was it there,

  in one of those? Was Parsifal somewhere in that past?"

  "If he was, you could hardly be considered a threat to him now." jenna sat

  forward, recognition suddenly in her eyes. "'He could have taken me out

  twenty times over but he dido~4' - she repeated. -Parsifal didiet try to

  kill you.-

  "Exactly.-

  "Then he could be someone you knew years ago."

  "Or there's another possibility. I said be could have taken me out and he

  could have, but regardless of how careful or how removed a person is,

  there's always a risk in killing someone or contracting for a gun, no

  matter how slight. Maybe he can~t tolerate even the hint of a risk. Maybe

  he's in a crowd of faces right in front of me and I can't pick him out. But

  if I knew who he is or what he looks like, rd know where to find him. I'd

  know, but not necessarily too many others, probably no one in our line of

  work."

  "The mole could supply you with both an identity and a description."

  "Good hunting, Mr. Undersecretary," said Havelock. "And I wish to hell he'd

  calll . . . Anything else in there?" he added, going back to the material

  on the Maryland physi-

  an.

  "I haven't gotten that far with the calendars. But theres something in the

  itineraries and it's repeated frequently. rm not sure I understand. Why is

  the Shenandoah mentioned so often, Mikhail?-

  Havelock looked up from the page as a dissonant chord echoed in the

  recesses of his brain.

  Emory Bradford struggled to keep his eyes open. Except for brief catnaps,

  taken when he could no longer function, he had not slept in nearly

  thirty-six hours. Yet he had to stay

  488 ROBERT LuDLLTm

  awake; it was past noon. The newsreel tapes and photographs from New York

  would be arriving any minute, flown down by an accommodating network

  television station that had accepted an innocuous explanation in exchange

  for a new and confidential source at the Department of State. The

  undersecretary had ordered up the proper equipment; he could run the tapes

  within minutes after receiving them. And then he would know.

  Incredible. Arthur Piercel Was it Pierce, after all? The senior State

  Department official at the United Nations delegation, chief aide to the

  ambassador, a career officer with a service record to be envied by just

  about anyone working in the upper regions of the government, a record that

  fairly !creamed "advancement." And prior to his arrival in Washington there

  was a superb military record. Had he stayed in the army he would have been

  on his way to the joint Chiefs of Staff. Pierce had arrived in Southeast

  Asia as a second lieutenant out of the university of Michigan, summa cum

  laude, master's program, and Berming's OCS. Thereafter, for five

  voluntarily uninterrupted tours of duty he had risen to the rank of major,

  replete with decorations for bravery, citations for leadership and

  recommendations for further strategic studies. And before that, before

  Vietnam, there was a dossier that exemplified the young American

  achievement of a farm boy: church acolyte, Eagle Scout, high school

  valedictori&n, college scholarship with academic honors-even membership in

  a 4-H club. As General Halyard had said, Arthur Pierce was flag, mother,

  apple pie and God. Where was the connection to Moscow?

  Yet there was one if there was validity in Havelocles use of the term

  "smoke screen," and especially in his warning "Look for a puppet. He could

  be alive or dead." It was the initial suggestion, however, that had first

  caught Bradford's attention: Look for a man who wasWt there, who unsWt

  where he was 8upposed to be.

  He had been studying routinely-too routinely, for the thought seemed too

  farfetcbed-the recommendations and positions taken by the American

  delegation at the Security Council's meetings during the week of Costa

  Brava. These included the confidential discussions within the delegation,

  as summarized by an attach46 named Carpenter. His superior, Pierce, the man

  second only to the ambassador, was men-

  THE PARSIFAL MOSAIC489

  floned frequently; his suggestions were concise, astute, very much in

  character. Then Bradford came upon a parenthetical abbreviated phrase deep

  in the text of that Thursday's meeting: "(Pel.1F.C.)."

  it followed a strong and lengthy recommendation presented to the ambassador

  by Pierce. Bradford had not picked it up before, probably because of the

  unnecessarily complicated diplomatic verbiage, but seven hours ago he had

  looked hard at it. "(Del./F.C.) Delitwed by Franklyn Carpenter."

  Translation: Not offered by the ambassadofs senior aide, Arthur Pierce,

  whose words they were, but relayed by a subordinate. Meaning: Pierce was

  not there, not where he was supposed to be.

  Bradford had then studied every subsequent line in the delegation report.

  He'd found two additional bracketed F.C.'s for Thursday and three more for

  Friday. Friday. Then he had remembered the obvious and gone back to the

  beginning of the week. It had been the end of the year; the operation at

  Costa Brava had taken place on the night of January 4. Sunday. A weekend.

  There had been no Security Council meeting that Wednesday because the

  majority of the delegations who were still on speaking terms were holding

  diplomatic receptions for New Year's Eve. On Thursday, the first day of the

  new year, as if to show the world the U.N. meant to greet it seriously, the

  council had resumed work, then again on Friday-but not Saturday or Sunday.

  Therefore, if Arthur Pierce was not where he was supposed to be, and had

  instructed a subordinate to deliver his words, he could have left the

  country Tuesday evening, allowing five days for the Costa Brava. If, if .

  . . if. Am biguity?

  He had called Havelock, who told him what to look for next. The puppet.

  The lateness of the hour was irrelevant. Bradford had raised an operator on

  the all-night tracing switchboard, and told him to reach one Franklyn

  Carpenter wherever he might be. Eight minutes later the operator had called

  back; Franklyn Carpenter had resigned from the Department of State almost

  four months ago. The number on file was useless; the telephone had been

  disconnected. Bradford had then given the name of the only other person

  listed at the

  490 RoBERT LunLum

  American desk during that Thursday meeting of the
Securit3r Council, a

  lower-level attacb6 no doubt still in New York.

  The tracing operator had called back at 5.15 A.M., the U.N. attach6 on the

  line.

  "This is Undersecretary of State Bradford. .

  The man~s initial response had been one of astonishment mixed with the

  fuzziness of sleep, and more than a touch of fear. Bradford had spent

  several minutes reassuring him, trying to bring him back to those few days

  nearly four months ago.

  . Can you remember them?"

  "Reasonably, I suppose."

  "Did anything strike you as unusual during the end of that week?"

  . Nothing that comes to mind, no, sir."

  "Ibe American team for those sessions-and rm mainly concerned with Thursday

  and Friday-consisted of the ambassador, the senior State Department

  official Arthur Pierce, yourself and a man named Carpenter, is that rightr

  "rd reverse the last two. I was low man on the totem pole then.-

  "Were all four of you there every day?"

  "Well . . . I think so. les hard to recall every day four months ago. The

  attendance rolls would tell you."

  '11mrsday was New Year's Day, does that help you?"

  There was a pause before the attach6 answered. When he did so, Bradford

  closed his eyes. "Yes," the aide said. I do remember. I may have been

  listed at the desk but I wasn7t there. The White Flash had-Excuse me, rm

  sorry, sir."

  "I know who you mean. What did Undersecretary Pierce dor

  "He had me fly down to Washington to compile an analysis of the entire

  Middle East position. I spent damn near the whole weekend on it. Then,

  wouldZt: you know, he di(Wt use it. Never has, to this day."

  "I have a last question," Bradford said quietly, trying to control his

  voice. "When a team member's recommendations are given to the ambassador by

  someone else at the desk, what exactly does it signify?"

  "Thaes easy. The senior members try to anticipate adversary proposals and

  write up strategies or counterproposals to block them. In the event he!s

  out of the council room when a

  THE PARSIFAL MOSAIC491

  controversial proposal is brought up, his advice is there for the

  ambassador."

  "Isn't that dangerous? Coulddt someone simply write up something under an

  official title and hand it to a member?'

  "Oh, no, it doesn7t work that way. You don!t wing it in those deliveries.

  Yodve got to be on the premises, thaes a must. Suppose the ambassador likes

  an argument, uses it, and gets bit with a counter he can't handle. He wants

  the man responsible back in session to get him away from the fam"

  Undersecretary Pierce gave a number of deliveries, as you call them, during

  the Thursday and Friday meetings~"

  "Thaes stAmdard. Hes out of that room as much as hes In It. Hes terrific in

  the Diplomats' Lounge, rve got to say it. He!s there a lot, buttonholing

  Cod knows who, but it works. I think he!s as effective as anyone up here;

  I mean hes really impressive. Even the Soviets like him"

  Yes, they do, Mr. Attach6. So much so that controversial proposals could be

  avoided by prearrangement, Bradford said to himself.

  "I know I said a last question; may I have one more?"

  Tm not going to argue, Sir."

  "What happened to Carpenter?"

  "I wish to hell I knew. I wish I could find him. I guess he just fell

  apart."

  "What do you meanr

  "I guess you diddt know. His wife and kids were killed in an automobile

  accident a couple of days before Christmas. How'd you like to have three

  coffins in front of a Christmas tree with the presents unopened?*

  "rin sorry~"

  "He showed a lot of guts coming back as soon as he did. Of course, we all

  agreed Wd be the best thing for him. To be with people who cared, not alam"

  "I imagine that Undersecretary Pierce concurred."

  "Yes, Sir. He was the one who persuaded bun to come bacL"

  "I see~"

  "Then one morning he just didn't show up. The next day a telegram arrived;

  it was his resignation, effective immediately."

  'That was unusual, waset it? Actually improper, I believe

  492 RoBERT LUDLUM

  "After what he'd been through, I don!t think anyone wanted to pursue

  formalities."

  "And again the undersecretary concurred."

  'Yes, sir. It was Pierce~s idea, Carpenter just disappeared. I hope Vs all

  right"

  Hds dm4 Mr. AttacU. The puppet k deati

  Bradford had continued until the sun was up, until his eyes ached from the

  strain. The next items he had examined were the time sheets for the night

  the Ambiguity code had been taken over, the "beyond salvag&' sent to Rome.

  He saw what he expected to see: Arthur Pierce had been not in New York but

  in Washington, at his office on the fifth floor-and, naturally, he had

  checked out shortly after five 6clock in the evening, the time

  corresponding to a half-dozen others'. How simple it must have been to walk

  out in a crowd, sign the security sheet and go right back inside. He could

  have stayed there all night, signed in in the morning and no one would have

  known the difference. Just as he, Undersecretary Emory Bradford, could do

  the same thing this morning.

  He had gone back to the military transcripts-a nonpareil army record-to the

  State Department dossier-an inventory of achievement-to an early life that

  read like an officially documented tribute to Jack Armstrong, All-American

  Boy. Where in God7s name was the connection to Moscow?

  By eight oVock it had become impossible to concentrate, so he leaned back

  in his chair and slept At eight-thirty-five he had been stirred awake by

  the hum of life beyond his office door. The day had began for the

  Department of State. Coffee was made and poured, appointments checked,

  schedWes set up as secretaries awaited the arrival of their crisp, starched

  superiors. There was an unwritten but understood dress code at State these

  days; frizzled hair, loud ties and unkempt beards were out He had gotten

  up, walked outside and greeted his own middle-aged secretary, startling her

  by his appearance. At that moment he realized what an Impression he must

  have made-tieless, in shirt sleeves, dark circles under his eyes, his hair

  rumpled and the black stubble of a beard on his face.

  He had asked for coffee and headed for the men~s room to relieve himself,

  wash, and straighten up as best he could. And as he walked through the

  large offic% past desks and

  THE PAMIFAL MOWC 493

  secretaries and arriving executives, he felt the stares leveled at him. If

  they only knew, he had thought to himself.

  By ten o'clock, remembering Havelock's admonition, he had gone out to a

  public booth and made arrangements for the tapes and the photographs to be

  flown down from New York. He had been tempted to call the President. He did

  not; he spoke to no one.

  Now he glanced at his watch. It was twenty-two minutes past twelve, three

  minutes later than it was when he last checked. The shuttle flights were

  every hour out of New York; which one was the shipment on?

  His thoughts were interrupted by a quiet rapping on his door and a

&
nbsp; corresponding acceleration in his heartbeat. "Come inl"

  it was his secretary, and she looked at him the way she had looked at him

  early in the morning, concern in her deep-set eyes. "I'm off to lunch,

  okay?"

  "Sure, Liz."

  "Can I get you anything?"

  "No, thanks."

  The woman stood awkwardly in the doorframe, pausing before she continued.

  "Are you feeling all right, Mr. BradfordF' she asked.

  "Yes, I'm fine:'

  "Is there anything I can do?"

  "Stop worrying about me and go to lunch," he saA attempting a smile; it was

  not successful.

  "See you later, then." -

  if she only knew, he thought.

  His telephone rang. It was lobby security; the unmarked delivery from New

  York had arrived. "Sign for it and send it up with a guard, please."

  Seven minutes later the tape was inserted into the video recorder and an

  interior view of the Security Council of the United Nations appeared on the

  screen. On the bottom of the picture a date was flashed on: Tues. December

  30: 2:56 F. The occasion was an address by the Saudi Arabian ambassador. A

  few minutes into the speech there was a reaction pan shot-first the Israeli

  delegation, then the Egyptian, followed by the American team. Bradford

  stopped the tape with the remote control and studied the picture. The four

  men were in place; the ambassador and his senior aide, Ar-

  494 RoBLeRT Lul)Lum

  thur Pierce, In front, two men seated behind. There was no point listening

  or watching further for Tuesday the thirtieth; Bradford resumed the

  movement, pulling the remote mechanism up In front of him to locate the

  forward button. He pressed It, and a rushing blur appeared on the screen. He

  released the button; the Saudi was still there. He was about to resume the

  forward motion when a quick-cut shot revealed the American delegation again.

  Arthur Pierce was not there.

  Bradford pressed the reverse several times until he found the action that

  he was looking for, that he knew would be there. An official from State did

  not walk out on a friendly speech without at least some explanation. There

  it was. Pierce was looking at his watch as he rose, leaning first toward

  the ambassador and whispering, then to the man behind him, presumably the