Robert Ludlum - The Parcifal Mosaic.txt

by The Parcifal Mosaic [lit]

  "Murdered. We might have prevented it if we'd taken the

  THE PAwrFAL MosAic527

  proper precautions. Tbaes our problem, Doctor, and a growing number of

  people know it. Mac, as you call him, didn't die of a stroke on his

  sailboat, he was killed. We're aware of it, but we don't want to acknowledge

  it.... Now you can understand why I dont have any taping device concealed

  anywhere. The picture I just painted is uglier than yours.

  "It sure as hell is-if it were true. But rm afraid it isn1. Well stick to

  the aortal hemorrhage because it works. You bastards couldn't be further

  off base. You blew it."

  "What does that mean?'

  "Steven MacKenzie committed suicide."

  32

  "That's impossiblel" cried Havelock, rising to his feet "You!re tvrongl"

  "Am V Are you a doctor, too, Mr. Cross?'

  "I don't have to be. I know men like MacKenzie. I am onel"

  "I figured as much, and that statement is about on a par with my assessment

  of the lot of you."

  "No, don't mistake me," said Michael quickly, shaking his head

  emphatically. "It's no sophomoric generalization. I'm the first to admit

  that the thought of packing it in can become a recurrent fixation,

  obsessive, but not this way. Not alone on a boat. That doesn~t workl"

  "Sorry. The pathology-the evidence-is against you. I wish to Almighty God

  it weren't, but it is."

  Havelock could not help himself; he leaned over Randolph's desk and

  shouted, "There was evidence against a woman very close to me and that

  evidence was a liel"

  "I don't know what thats got to do with the price of perfume in Alaska, but

  it doesn't change anything."

  "In this case it does. There's a connectionl"

  "You're downright incoherent, young fella."

  "Pletue. Listen to me. Im not a 'young fella' and I'm not a raving idiot.

  Whatever you found you were nwant to find."

  "You don't even know what it was."

  528

  THE PAWWAL MOSAJC 529

  "I don't have tol Try to understand me, Doctor. A blackoperations officer

  like MacKenzie-2'

  "A what? Mae was whitel"

  "Oh, jesusl An engineer, a manipulator . . . a man in sanction, with the

  authority to bring about events in which people might be killed, usually

  are killed-because it has to be done. More often than I can tell you, men

  like this have very painful doubts, enormous feelings of guilt, feelings of

  . . goddamn it futilityl Certainly, depression sets in; sure, &Y've

  conside'r;d blowing their brains out, but not this wayl There are other

  ways that make sense, because if there's one thing ingrained in such men

  it's function, function, tunctionl For Christ's sake, take yourself out,

  but accomplish something when you do itl And, do it right."

  "Thaes subkindergarten psyebobabble," protested Randolph.

  "Call it whatever you like, but it's true. les the first thing, the most

  important thing recruiters look for in a candidate. Ies the single

  overriding factor.... You said it yourself. You said MacKenzie had to

  compete-angrily compete-for the highest stakes he could find."

  "Ultimately, he did. Himself."

  "No, that's wastel That!s not even making a statement. .

  Look, Im not a doctor, not a psychiatrist, and I probably can't convince

  you, but I know Im right, so let it pass. just tell me what you found, what

  you did."

  "Mac gave himself a needle and let it all drift away."

  "Never."

  "Sorry. He was damned smart about it too. He used a steroid compound of

  digitoxin combined with enough alcohol to float an elephant. The alcohol

  blood count overshadowed everything else, but the digitoxin blew the heart.

  It's one bell of a combination."

  "Then the X-ray was valid?"

  Randolph did not reply at first. Instead, he pursed his thin lips and

  fingered his glasses. Then he spoke. "No."

  "You did switch the plates." Yes.-

  "Why?"

  "To carry out what Mac intended. To make sure."

  "Go back."

  Ile doctor leaned forward. "He knew what he!d put

  M0ROBERT LUDLUM

  Midge and the kids through all these years, and it was his way of trying to

  make up for it, make peace witb himself. Midge bad bad about all she could

  take; she was flnished pleading. She told him he had to get out of the

  Agency or get out of the house." Randolph stopped briefly, shaking his head.

  "Mac knew he couldn't do either, so he just decided to get out, period."

  "You've skipped something."

  "He had a whale of an insurance policy, and considering the work he

  did-work the insurance company didn't know a damned thing about-it was

  understandable. Those kinds of policies don't pay on suicide. I was going

  to be damned before Midge and those kids were cheated out of what they

  deserved. . . . Thaes the story, Mr. Cross. You made him what he was, and

  together, be and I made him better."

  Havelock stared at the physician, then turned and sat down in the chair,

  his eyes still on Randolph. "Even if you were right," be began wearily,

  "and, believe me, you weren~t tben-you're not now-you could have spelled it

  out for the Agency and they'd have gone along with you; the last thing they

  want is for this sort of killing to get into print. Instead, you put

  everyone off, wasted valuable time and the damage you've done is

  incalculable."

  "What in hell! Twenty minutes ago you said you wanted it my wayl Yesterday

  on the phone you said you wanted to shut up some troublemakersl"

  "I lied. Just as you lied. But at least I knew what I was doing, you

  didn't. If you'd told the trutb-if only to one personevery minute of

  MacKenzie's day would have been exan-Aned; something might have turned up,

  somewhere a connection. ... No one even bothered to go over the boat. Oh,

  Christl"

  "Maybe you didn't hear mel" shouted the physician, his eyes wild, his face

  apoplectic. "Midge MacKenzie bad given her ultimatum I He was between a

  rock and a bard place. He couldn't, as you put it, function anymorel He

  fell apard"

  "That accounted for the alcohol, I don't doubt it."

  'And when be was plastered, he made his final decision. It's all therel"

  "It's not there, " said Michael, feeling far older than the elderly doctor

  in front of him. "I don't expect you to accept this, but the last thing a

  man like MacKenzie would do is make a decision when be's drunk."

  THE PARsiFAL MosAic531

  "Hogwashl"

  "Let me ask you something. I assume you take a drink now and then, and when

  you do, you know when you~ve had a few."

  Certainly.-

  "Would you ever operate if you knew you were high?-

  "Certainly not, but there's no parallell"

  "Yes, there is, Dr. Randolph. Because when men like MacKenzie or

  myself-twenty or thirty more I could mention-are in the field, we're

  surgeons. They even call most of the jobs we do 'operations! Ys hammered

  into us from our first day of school that every reflex, every observation,

  every reaction has to be as accurate and as fast and as clear as we can

  make them. We're primed-our machines are ho
ned."

  "Yoere playing with words-yours and minel Mae waset in the field."

  "If what you believe is true, he was, and the highest stakes were himself."

  "Goddamn it, you're twisting everything I saidl"

  "No,, I'm not. Because a lot of what you said was as perceptive as I've

  ever heard it expressed. I respect it.... Don't you understand? MacKenzie

  wouldn~t have killed himself this way because-everything else aside-the

  digitoxin might not have workedl And that be couldn~t accept. It was too

  much a part of him, bad been for too many years. If it was going to be his

  flnal decision, the one thing he coulddt afford was a mistakel Can't you

  see that?"

  It was as though Matthew Randolph bad been struck. His eyes were wide and

  fixed, the muscles of his face taut, his mouth rigid. When be spoke, it was

  a whisper. "God. Almighty . . ." he said, his voice drifting off into

  silence. Then softly, unexpectedly, be rose from his chair, and stood mo-

  tionless, a helpless old man struggling with a massive error he did not

  want to confront. "Oh, my God," he added, taking off his glasses, breathing

  deeply.

  Havelock watched him, moved to make things easier. 'Tou did the right thing

  by your lights, Mine, too, if I'd been you. But at the wrong time, the

  wrong way. Still, we can go back over everything. We might find something."

  "Shut upl"

  It was the last thing Michael had expected to hear. OWhatr

  532 ROBERT LuDLum

  "I said, 'Shut up!"'

  "You're full of surprises."

  "I may have a real one for you."

  "MacKenzie?"

  Randolph did not answer. Instead, be walked rapidly to a Me cabinet against

  the wall; taking out a small chain of keys, he selected one and literally

  jammed it into the upper lock. "These are my private files, very private.

  A lot of broken marriages and altered wills could result if they were read.

  Mac's in here."

  "What about him?"

  "Not him. The staff pathologist who put it all together. Who worked with me

  to convince those fellas from Langley it was a cardiovascular, pure and

  simple."

  "A question," interrupted Havelock. "The CIA report says everything was

  processed here. Your laboratories, your equipment-your staff. How come they

  didn't remove the body to Bethesda or Walter Reed?"

  The physician turned, his bands in an open file drawer, his long fingers

  inserted between the folders. "Some pretty strong language on my part with

  the promise of a lot stronger from Midge MacKenzie if they tried. I told

  them she'd kick up a mess of feathers the like of which they haven't seen

  since the Bay of Pigs, that she hated their guts, figured the strain killed

  Mac and the least they could do was leave hirn in peace."

  "Did they talk to her?"

  "They tried to. She gave them flve minutes, answered their questions, and

  told them to go to hell. They got the picture; they didn~t want any loud

  trouble from her."

  "nl bet they didn't."

  "Also," said Randolph, turning back to the Mes, "weve got a hell of a

  reputation here, treat some of the most important people in the country.

  Who's going to call us liars?"

  "You counted on that, didn't you?"

  "You're damn right.... Here it is."

  "What did your pathologist find that you think might help?"

  "It's not what he found. Like I said, it's him. He was a temporary."

  "A what?" Michael could feel a sudden, hollow suspension of breath in his

  chest.

  TAE PAnsirAL mosAic533

  'You heard me," Randolph continued, carrying the Me back to his desk and

  sitting down. "He was a temporary replacement, took over for our regular

  man, who was out with a case of mono."

  "Mononucleosis?"

  "Herpesvinis. Easiest damn thing to transmit, if yoeve a mind to."

  'You!re losing me."

  "Catch up," said the surgeon, turning the pages in the folder. "Several

  days before Mac's death our pathologist comes down with mono. Then, thank

  you very much, a highly qualified man shows up; he's in the middle of a

  transfer, has a month or so free, and is staying with a sister in Easton.

  Jesus, I grabbed him."

  "And?"

  "Mae's body's brought in; he does the initial work, and asks to see me in

  my office. IT never forget it; the first thing he says to me is, 'How well

  did you know this MacKenzie? "

  Havelock nodded. "One thing led to another, and the bottom line was that

  MacKenzies body coulddt stand an independent autopsy."

  "He!d found minute traces of digitoxin," said Randolph.

  "And a puncture wound, the position and angle indicating that it was

  probably self-inflicted," Havelock added.

  "You got it."

  Tm sure he also inquired about MacKenzie's work, his mental state, his

  family-and, somewhere along the line, brought up the subject of insurance."

  "He did. Oh, ChrWl"

  "Don!t cut your throat, Doctor. These people do their homework like no one

  else on earth."

  "What peopleF'

  "if rm right, they're called paminyatchikL'

  ofto?"

  "Never mind. And don~t bother looking for holes in there. He covered

  himself; he didn't tell you a single he, that's his blanket. He simply knew

  it all in advance. You c6uldn't touch him without incriminating yourself

  and mining your Center."

  "rin not looking for holes," said the doctor, rapidly scmniug: the pages.

  534 ROBEIRT LUDLUM

  "A sister in Easton? Forget it. She never was, and he~s gone, and you won't

  find him."

  "llat's just it. I know where he is."

  Michael bolted forward in the chair. "You what?"

  "His name came up several weeks ago. I was talking to a salesman from a

  surgical supply house and he mentioned that he had to check our purchase

  orders because a pathologist wanted to duplicate a piece of equipment we

  had. I .recognized the name, of course, but not the place. It wasn't where

  I thought he'd transferred to." Randolph stopped and looked up from the Me.

  "I did an odd thing," he continued. "Childish, I suppose. it was as though

  I didn~t want to acknowledge him, or. think about what he and I had done

  ... just wanted to keep tabs on him. I didn't tell my secretary~ as I

  usually do-to list his current position in our personnel records. Instead.

  I came in here and wrote it in Maes Me. Somewhere." The doctor went back to

  the pages.

  Stunned, Havelock sat rigidly on the edge of the chair. Over the years in

  his shadow world, he bad learned that the most incredible turns of

  circumstance generally had the most credible reasons for happening. He

  barely found his voice as be explained. "Your pathologist kept the name

  because he knew that you of all people could never come after him. He had

  his hooks into you with the name, not without it. Believe me, Doctor,

  sooner or later he would have pulled you in, viciously and effectively."

  "rve got it," said Randolph, raising his eyes and staring at Michael. "He

  still could, you know. Pull me in, I mean."

  "So could I, but I woet unless you destroy the information on that page.

  It's not lik
ely because I wouldn't give you the chance. On the other hand,

  hell never come near you because I won't give him the chance. He's made the

  one mistake he caet afford to make in his very strange life. ies fatal. Ile

  name, please."

  "Colin Shippers. Chief pathologist, the Regency Foundation. It's a private

  research center."

  les far more than that, Doctor. Ies whereapaminyatchik can be found. The

  first concrete step toward Ambiguity. Toward Parsifal.

  "This is what I want you to do," said Havelock. "And rm afraid you'll have

  to do it.'

  THE PARS17AL MOSAIC535

  It was vital to operate not only once removed but almost blindly, and that

  was the most difficult thing in the world for Michael to do. The highly

  concentrated surveillance had to be left to others, something Havelock hated

  because his team was operating totally in the dark, told only to follow

  instruotions, given no clear reason for the job they were doing. There were

  always built-in risks in such methods; responsibility without knowledge or

  authority led to resentment, and resentment was the first cousin to

  carelessness. That could not be permitted. Nor, unfortunately, could

  inquiries be made regarding routine habits, friends, medical associates,

  places frequented . . . all the minutiae that might help them were denied

  them.

  For if MacKenzie!s death linked Dr. Colin Shippers to the initial cover-up

  of Costa Brava-a cover-up that was no part of the White House strategy-he

  was at the Medical Center under orders from the mole at State, the

  paminyatchik who had assumed the Ambiguity code. And a paminyatchik in that

  position would never entrust an assignment as sensitive as the killing of

  a CIA black-operations officer to any but one of his own. Therefore they

  had to operate on the assumption that Shippers himself was a traveler, and

  that even the hint of an alarm would send him underground, severing the

  connection to Ambiguity, and, with it, any possibility of tracing the mole

  through the link. Sources of information were continuously covered by the

  travelers; personnel offices, bank and credit references, professional

  records-even FBI checks-all were assiduously scrutinized by

  informants-willing and unwilling, Russian plants and blackmailed clerks-who

  alerted these thoroughly Americanized Soviet agents that someone was