Robert Ludlum - The Parcifal Mosaic.txt
Page 69
phoned Ben, he'd call me and ask what the hell was going on."
"And what were you going to say?"
'Mat whoever it was got it backwards. I was the one who wanted the second
si4pnature for our own records."
"What did Shippers say?"
"Just a few words, spoken like a frozen computer. He asked whether I bad
told either Ben or the man from the insurance company who he was."
"AndP"
"I said 'No, I didn't.' Fair was fair, and I guessed the best way was to
handle it quietly. For him to get over here and sign the damned report
without any fanfare."
"His response here?"
'Again, damned short and bloodless." Randolph paused, and spacing his words
apart in a monotone, be continued, "'Have you told me everything,' he
wanted to know. I tell you he was a zombie."
"What did you sayr
"I said of course I had, what else was there? Thaes when he tc)ld me he'd
call me back. just like that, 'Ill call you back,' in that God-awful
voice."
Havelock breathed deeply, his eyes dropping to the names on the Pentagon
stationery, to one name in particular. "Doctor, either you~ve done a
remarkable job or Im going to have your inflated head."
"What the hell are you talking aboutr
"If yoed done it my way, just using the insurance company alone, without
any other name, Shippers would have assumed MacKenzie's death was being
reexamined by a third party without telling you. Now, if he calls this
Jackson hell know yoere lying."
"So what? Same result, !set it?"
"Not for you, Doctor, and we caet bring in your friend; we Caet take the
risk. For your sake I hope he's gone fishing.
544 RoBERT LuDLum
And I mean it-if you~ve given me another complication, I'll see your head
rolling down the street."
'Well, now, young fella, Ive been doing some thinking about that. There
could be a couple of heads rolling down a two-way street, couldn't there?
Here you are, a muckamuck from the White House telling me the executive
branch of our government is trying to cover up the brutal killing of a
heroic veteran, an employee of the CIA, and I'm just a country doctor
trying to protect the interests of his bereaved widow and fatherless
orphans because they've suffered more than anyone had a right to ask them
to suffer. You want to tangle with me, you bastard?"
"Please call me if you hear anything further, Dr. Randolph.-
Special Detachment Officer Charles Loring, Consular Operations, late of
Poole's Island, rubbed his eyes and raised the thermos of black coffee to
his lips as be sat in the front seat of the gray sedan. The driver was for
all intents and purposes a stranger; that is to say, Loring had not seen him
before ten o7clock last night, when he had met the entire unit selected by
Havelock from thirty-odd service records submitted by the Federal Bureau of
Investigation at the justice Department's request. The uiiit was now his
responsibility, the assignment of continuity surveillance understood, the
reasons behind it withheld-which was not the smartest thing to do when
dealing with superior talent.
And regardless of Havelock's minor-very minor-attempt to stroke him,
Charley Loring knew that the former Cons Op field man was getting some of
his own back by claiming "reluctant privilege." The only clue Havelock gave
him was that this Shippers was tied in with Poole's Island, and it was-with
reluctance-enougb for Charley. Havelock was a low-blowdealing prick and be
bad made fools of Savannah, but if he was running some part of the Matthias
show in Washington, he bad more problems than they did. Loring would do
what he could to help. There were times when likes and dislikes just did
not mean very much; the catastrophe-the tragedyof Poole's Island was such
a time.
The unit had met at ten o'clock at Sterile Eleven down in Quantfco, and had
stayed up until four in the morning covering the variables of total
surveillance-without knowing a
Tim PAwrrAL MosAic545
damn thing about the subject. They bad a photograph, but except for an
inadequate description furnished by Randolph that was about all they bad,
and it, too, was inadequate. It was a blowup made at Sterile Eleven from a
1971 Jefferson Medical School yearbook that had been located by the FBI
office in Philadelphia. No reason was given the agents who found it, only
that they should observe complete secrecy. Actually, it had been stolen out
of the university's library by an agent, who bad concealed it under his
coat. Examining the grainy blowup, the unit bad to imagine a face
considerably older than that in the photograph, and since no one they could
speak with had seen Shippers in four months, the possibility of a beard or
a moustache could not be discounted. And they could speak to no one about
Dr. Colin Shippers, no one at all. Havelock's orders.
Initial surveillance bad dispelled the conjecture about any hirsute
additions to the subjeces face; tinted glasses and a heavier frame were the
essential differences between his ap~-pearance now and the yearbook
photograph. The men inside the Regency Foundation had radioed out twice;
they had picked up Shippers. One man was down the ball from the laboratory
where the pathologist worked; the other covered his office on the floor
below. The waiting bad begun, thought Loring. But waiting for what?
The hours or the days would tell. All Charles Loring knew was that he had
done everything he could to position the unit effectively: spaced apart and
in contact to ensure maxfinurn concealment. The cars were at one-way
intersections, his own down the street and across from the research center
with a full view of the entrance and the adjacent garage used for personnel
parking.
A sharp, high-pitched hum came from the dashboard console; it was a signal
from one of the men inside. Loring reached for the microphone, depressed
the switch, and spoke. "S-Five. What is it?"
'S-Three. He just left the lab, seems in a hurry."
"Any clues?"
"I heard a telephone ring in there a few minutes ago. Hes alone, so be
could have talked, but that's spec. I wasn't able to overhear any
conversation."
"Ies good enough. Stay where you are and stay out of sightm
WRoBE11T LUDLUM
Loring replaced the microphone, only to hear a second jarrIng signal before
he could lean back in the seat.
"S-Five."
"S-Two. Subject went into his office. From the way he walked-bis general
demeanor-be's agitated."
"Good description; it fits upstairs. We may be moving faster than any of
us-"
"Hold itl Stay on the line," instructed Surveillance 2 as static filled the
speaker. The man had concealed his radio under his clothing without
breaking the open circuit. In seconds his voice was back. "Sorry. Subject
came right back out and I had to spin. He chucked the white coat and is in
his street clothes. Same tan raincoat, same soft, floppy hat. I guess he's
yours.
"I guess be is. Out." Loring held the microphone in his hand a
nd turned to
the driver. "Get ready, the package is coming our way. If I have to go on
foot, take over. III stay in touch." He reached under his jacket and took
out the small compact hand-held radio, checking by habit the battery
charge. He then pulled back his left sleeve, revealing the flat
miniaturized high-speed camera attached to the underside of his wrist. He
twisted his hand and heard the muted click; he was ready. "I wonder who
this Shippers is,- he saicL watching the entrance of the Regency
Foundation.
The telephone rang, breaking Havelock's concentration on his Pentagon
notes. He picked it up.
'Yes?"
"Cross?"
Michael blinked, recognizing Randolphs strident voice. "Yes, Doctor?"
"Maybe we can both keep our beads. Ben Jackson just called, angrier than a
Point Judith squall."
"What about?"
"Seems this lawyer phoned him asking why the final payment on MacKenzie's
policy was being held up."
"Shippers," said Havelock.
"You got it, and Ben was maddern bell. There was no flnal payment. The
entire settlement was mailed to Midge's lawyer about eight weeks ago."
"Why did Jackson call you and not Mrs. MacKenzie's attorney?"
TFm PmisrFAL MosAic547
'Because Shippers-I figure it was Shippers or someone calling for him-got
shook up and said there was some confusion over signatures on a medical
report and did Ben know anything about it. Naturally, Ben said he didn't;
the money was paid-processed through his agency-and that was that. He also
added that he didrft appreciate his reputation-m"
"Listen to me," interrupted Havelock. "I won't lose my head, but you may
have blown yours away. I want you to stay in your office and don~t see
anybody until I can get a couple of men up there. If anyone tries to reach
you, have the desk say you're operating."
"Forget itl" shot back Randolph. "A mealy-mouthed snot like Shippers
doesn't worry me. He comes near here, I'll have one of the guards throw him
into a padded cell."
"If he did and you could, Ird kiss your feet at this point, but it wont be
Shippers. He may call you; that's as.near as hell come and itd be the best
thing that could happen to you. If he does, say you're sorry for the white
lie, but after long consideration, you wanted to cover yourself on that re-
port..
"He wouldn't believe it."
"Neither would 1, but ies a stall. rll have men up there within the hour."
"I don't want theml"
"You have no choice, Dr. Randolph," said Michael, hangIng up and
immediately centering the page of telephone numbers in front of him.
"Do you really think Shippers will go after him?" asked jenna, standing by
the window with the CIA report in her hand.
"He won't, but others'll be sent up there, not at first to kill him, but to
take him. Take him and get him alone where they can press his head until
they find out who he's dealing with, who he's lying for. Killing could be
nicer." Havelock reached for the phone, his eyes on the page below.
"On the other hand," observed jenna, "knowing Randolph lied, knowing he was
involved, made Shippers move faster than we thought possible. How long ago
was Loring's last caur
"Over an hour. Shippers took a taxi downtown; they're with him on foot by
now. We should be hearing soon." Michael dialed; the line answered quickly.
"This is Sterile
548 ROBERT LunLum
Five, Fairfax. Under that code name I was taken under escort up to the
Randolph Medical Center yesterday. Talbot County, Maryland, Eastern. Shore.
Will you confirm, please?" While waiting, Havelock covered the phone and
said to Jenna, "I just thought of something. With any luck we might turn a
liability into an asset," then returned to the phone: "... Yes, that's
right. Three-man team; departure was eleven hundred hours. Are you ready for
instructions? . . . Return two men, up there immediately on a priority
basis. Subject is Dr. Matthew Randolph; be's to be given protection, maximum
visual contact, but there's a book. I want the men to be part of the local
scenery-orderlies or staff or whatever I can work out with Randolph. Tell
them to get en route and call me on the mobile phone in twenty minutes;
patch it through you." Michael paused again, looking again at Jenna as the
Secret Service dispatcher checked schedules. "Randolph may have done us
another favor at a risk to himself he'll never understand."
"It be cooperates."
"He hasn't got a choice, I meant that." The dispatcher returned; Havelock
listened, then spoke. "No, that's fine. Actually, I prefer men who weren't
up there yesterday. By the way, the code will be-" Michael stopped, his
thoughts going back to the Palatine, to a dead man whose words had sent him
to Maryland's Eastern Shore. "Apache," he said. "They were hunters. Tell
Apache to call me in twenty minutes."
Dr. Matthew Randolph roared his objections to no avail. He would either
cooperate, Havelock told him, or they could all take their chances and the
fallout "tangling" with each other. "Mr. Cross" was prepared to press his
suit to the limit even if it meant admitting the murder of a CIA operations
officer named Steven MacKenzie. And Randolph, understanding that he was now
between a rock and a hard place, entered into the dangerous charade with a
fair degree of inventiveness. The Apache team would be two visiting
cardiologists from California, complete with white jackets and
stethoscopes.
. Havelock's orders were explicit, no room for error. Whoever came for
Matthew Randolph-and someone was bound to come-he or they were to be taken
alive. Wounds were permitted, but only in the legs, the feet, nothing above
the waist.
THE PARSWAL MOSAJC549
It was a Four Zero order, none more sacrosanct in the clandestine services.
"Havelock, Ws Loring."
"How goes it?"
"My driver said he wasn't able to raise you."
"I was talking with an irascible doctor, but if there was an emergency,
your man could have broken in. He knows that."
"it wasiA and it iset. Ies just weird." Loring stopped. The pause was
uncomfortable.
"What!s going down, Charleyr
"That's just it. Nothing. Shipper's taxi let him off in front of
Garfinckle's Department Store. He went inside, made a call from one of the
phones on the first floor, and for the past hour or so he's been wandering
around the men~s shop on the fifth. I'm calling from there; rve got him in
sight."
"He's waiting for someone."
'If he is, it's an odd way of doing it quietly."
"What do you mean?'
"He's buying clothes like be was going on a cruise, trying on things and
laughing with the clerks. He's a one-man gross for the day."
"Ies not usual, but be patient. The main point is be made the call, made
his first outside move. Yoere doing fine."
"Who the hell is he, Havelock?'
Michael reflected. Loring deserved to be told more than he had been; it was
the moment to bring him nearer to the truth. So much depended on the
sharp,
plainspoken Cons Op officer.
"A deep-cover entry who's going to meet a man.who could blow Poole's Island
out of Savannah harbor. I'm glad yolfre there, Charley. We have to know who
that man is.-
"Good enough, and thanks. All the floors and exits here are covered, we're
in contact and our cameras; ready. If it's a question of choice, do we drop
Shippers and stay with his contact?"
"You may not have to. You may recognize him. The others probably wouldn't,
but you might."
"Jesus, from State?"
'Ilaes right. My guess is fairly high-level, forty-five to middle fifties,
and some kind of specialist. If you do recognize him, stay far back until
they separate, then pick up
55D ROBEIRT LIUDLUM
Shippers and bring him down here. But when you close in, be very fast and
very careful and check for capsules.-
"Shippers is that deep? Christ, bow do they do it?"
"Past tense, Charley. Did. A long time ago."
The waiting would have been intolerable had it not been for Havelock's
growing fascination with a Lieutenant Commander Thomas Decker, Annapolis
'61, former skipper of the submarine Starfire, and a member of the
Pentagon's Nuclear Contingency Committees. Decker was a liar with no ap-
parent reason for lying.
Michael had spoken with all fifteen NCC senior officers calling several
twice, a few three times, ostensibly to put togetber a clear picture of the
committees' working methods for updated presidential comprehension. In most
of the conversations the initial remarks were guarded-eacb, of course '
demanding White House switchboard verification-but as the words flowed and
the officers realized Havelock knew what he was talking about, they grew
less wary and more specific within the bounds of maximum security.
Hypothetical events were matched with theoretical responses, and beyond his
fundamental reason for speaking to each man, Havelock was impressed. If the
laws of physics determined that for every action there was an equal and
opposite reaction, the NCC teams had come up with a better equation. For
any nuclear action on the part of an enemy the reaction was anything but
equal; it was devastatingly superior. Even Lieutenant Commander Deckees
contributions were electric in this sense. He made it clear that a ring