tions she may ask. Your escort will be back in twenty minutes or so. When
you're fmished, and only if she agrees, you may go. But once you reach your
house you7re not to leave it for any reason whatsoever. You'll be watched."
TJaE PAwxFAL MosAic583
"Yes, Mr. Cross."
Havelock grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair and started toward
the door. He stopped and turned to Decker, his hand on the knob.
"Incidentally, her name is Mrs. Cross."
All low-flying traffic was diverted as the two helicopters roared into the
small private field in Denton, Maryland, the aircraft from the Bethesda
Naval Hospital arriving eleven minutes before the chopper from Quantico.
Havelock raced across the tarmac to the staff car sent over from Annapolis,
the driver an ensign reputed to know the roads on the Eastern Shore of
Chesapeake Bay. The ensign knew nothing else; no one did; not even the
doctor whose orders were to take care of Charles Loring first, and not to
administer anything to Loring~s prisoner until Sterile Five was on the
scene. Two state police patrol cars had been sent to the Pheasant Run Motel;
they would be given their instructions by the Secret Service.
If the name Pheasant Run gave rise to images of squire. dom and hunt
country, it was misapplied to the sleazy moters rim-down cabins that stood
in a row off the highway. Apparently, the moters primary function was to
serve as a place for assignations lasting an hour or so, cars were parked
in small dirt lots at the rear, out of sight of the main road. The
management catered to its clientele's idiosyncrasies, if not to their
comforts, and Loring had used his head. A man in pain, concealing wounds,
without luggage but with a prisoner he wanted to rush surreptitiously into
hiding, could hardly hope to register at a brightly lit Howard johnson's
Motor Lodge.
Havelock thanked the ensign and told him to return to Annapolis, reminding
him that the present emergency called for the utmost secrecy. Washington
had his name, and his cooperation would not be overlooked. The young man,
obviously impressed by the sight of searchlights and military helicopters
at night, as well as by his own participation, replied in a monotone, "You
may be assured of my silence, sir."
"Just say you went out for a beer, thaes good enough. Better, maybe."
A government man, holding up an encased silver badge in his palm,
intercepted Michael as he ran along the row of cabins looking for number
twelve.
584 RoBETtT LunLum
"Sterile Five," said Havelock, noticing for the Rrst time the two state
police cars parked in the shadows twenty feet apart to his left. Number
twelve was nearby.
"This way," said the man, pocketing his badge, and led Michael between two
cabins toward the rear of the moters grounds. Beyond was a shorter row of
cabins, which were not visible from the front. Loring had spent precious
moments of pain and anxiety studying the moters layout-again an indication
that be was in control.
In the distance, at the rear of the cabin on the left, the bood of a
stationary automobile could be seen, but it was not an ordinary car. A
streak of white ending in an arrowhead was stenciled over the black chassis
at midpoint. It was the patrol car Loring bad stolen, the only indication
that perhaps he bad lost a part of the control that bad served them all so
well. Someone in Washington would have to reach a panIcked. Maryland police
headquarters and call off the hunt.
"This is it," said the federal agent, pointing to the door of a cabin above
a stoop of three steps. "I'll be out here," added the man. "Watch those
steps; theyre loose."
"Thanks," said Havelock, and quickly but cautiously went up to the door. He
tried the knob; it was locked. In answer to his knock, someone inside
asked, "Who is it?"
"Sterile Five," replied Michael.
The door was opened by a stocky, red-haired man in his middle thirties, his
Celtic face freckled, his eyes wary, his sleeves rolled up. "Havelock?"
"That's right."
"Name's Taylor. Come on in, we've got to talk fast."
Michael walked inside the room with the soiled wallpaper; the doctor closed
the door. On the bed was a naked man, spread-eagled, bloody hands and feet
tied to the frame, belts around the wrists, torn sheets lashed to his
ankles. His mouth was pulled taut by a striped blue tie to inhibit any loud
sound, and his eyes were wide with anger and fear.
"Wher6's ... ?"
Taylor gestured toward the far comer of the room. 7$ere on the floor, his
bead on a pillow and a blanket over him, was Charles Loring, his eyes only
partially open; he was dazed or in shock. Havelock started across the
filthy gray carpet but was stopped by the doctor's grip on his arm.
'Jrhat's what we have to talk about. I don~t know whaes
Mm PAnsi7AL MosAic585
going on here, but I do know I can't be responsible for that man's life
unless we get him to a hospital an hour ago. Do I make myself clearP"
"As soon as we can, not right now," said Michael, shaking his head. "rve
got to question him. Hes the only person who can give me the information I
need. Everyone else is dead."
"Maybe you di(Wt hear me. I said an hour ago."
"I heard you, but I know what I have to do. I'm sorry."
"I don't like you," said Taylor, staring at Havelock, removIng his hand as
if he had touched something loathsome.
"I wish that could concern me, Doctor, because I like him III be as brief
and as quiet as I can. He'd want it this way, take my word for it."
"I have to. I couldn't convince him be should get out of here ten minutes
ago."
Michael walked over to Loring and knelt down, putting his face close to the
wounded man's. "Charley, ifs Havelock. Can you hear me?"
Loring opened his eyes wider, his lips trembling, struggling to form the
words. Finally the whisper came. "Yes. Hear ... you ... fine."
"IT tell you what I've learned, which is damned little. Nod your bead if
I'm on the track, shake it if I'm not. Don't waste words or breath. Okay?"
The Cons Op agent nodded and Michael continued, "I spoke with police who
are trying to put it together. As they tell it, an ambulance brought in a
traffic accident with his wife, and Randolph, a staff doctor and a nurse
were cleaning him up, checking the extent of injuries." Loring shook his
head, but Havelock went on, "Let me finish, then we'll go back. They wereet
in there five minutes when two state troopers came running in and spoke
with our cardiologists. No one knows what was said, but they were admitted
into the examining room." Again the Cons Op agent shook his bead. "A couple
of minutes later a third man-I assurne that was you-crashed through
emergency doors, and that's when everything went down." Loring nodded.
Havelock took a breath and continued softly, rapidly. "The staff heard
gunshots, perhaps five or six, no one's sure. Most of them ran out of the
building. The rest hid in the corridors and patients' rooms behind locked
doors, everyone trying to reach a
phone. When the gunfire stopped, someone
outside
586 ROBERT LUDLUM I
saw you and one of the state police come running down the ramp-you were bent
over with a gun in your hand, the officer was bleeding, limping and holding
his arm. You forced him into the patrol car and got out of there. The police
are trying to find out who the other trooper was, but identifications were
taken off some of the bodies, not all." Loring shook his bead violently.
Michael touched his shoulder and said, "Take it easy; we'll go back. I donI
have to tell you the body count was full. Randolph, the staff doctor, the
nurse, the accident victim and his wife and our Apache unit. Two automatic
weapons equipped with silencers were found; theyre still counting the
shells. Yours was the gunfire that was heard; they're tracing the weapons,
matching prints. Beyond what rve told you, no one knows what happened. Now,
let's go back." Havelock squinted, remembering. "The traffic accident."
Loring shook his head, whispering, "No accident."
"My not?"
"They wereWt troopers."
Michael looked up at the naked man strapped to the bed, and at the uniform
rumpled on the floor. "Of course they weren't. And the patrol car was a
mock-up; they've got the money for that kind of thing. I should have known;
you wouldn't have taken it otherwise."
The wounded agent nodded, his hand emerging from under the blanket,
gesturing for Havelock to lean closer. "The man and the woman ... from the
ambulance ... the accident. Any ID's?"
No.-
"Same with the troopers ... right?"
"Right."
"The accident," whispered Loring, stopping for breath. "Too easy. Man hurt
... a woman who won't leave his side. They get in ... to a room . . .
doctor, nurse ... Randolph. They got him."
"How could they know Randolph would be there?"
'Doesn't matter. They'd tell the doctor ... or the nurse to call for him
... under a gun. Probably did. They got him. Too easy."
"And the troopers?"
"In a hurry ... running like bell. They were sent to break it up, break it
aU up ... in a hurry."
THE PARsiFAL Mosmc587
"How did you f1gure that?'
"They left the doors open, ran funny ... heavy weapons under their coats.
The pattern wasn't normal, wasn't right. . . . Apache said the accident was
a big-balled mafioso the cops came to question. If he was, there'd be ten
vehicles there, not one." Loring expelled his breath, coughing; blood
trickled out of the comers of his mouth. He gasped, and resumed breathing.
The doctor was now behind Havelock.
"For Christ!s sake," said Taylor quietly but with angry intensity. "Why
don't you just put a bullet in his bead?"
"Why don't I put one in yours?" Michael leaned back toward Loring. "Why,
Charley? Why do you think they were sent in to break it up?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe I was spotted ... maybe I blew it again."
"I don't believe that."
"Don't be so goddamn nice, I can't stand it ... I probably did blow it. .
. . I'm getting old."
"Then just pass on your instincts, Methuselah, we need them. You didn~t
blow anything. You brought us one, you brought us one, Charley."
~ Loring tried to raise his shoulders, Michael gently holding him down.
"Tell me something, Havelock. You said this morning ... about Shippers. 'A
long time ago.' You said he was programmed a long time ago. Tell me. Is that
son of a bitch over there a . . . a traveler?"
"I think be is."
"Goddamn ... maybe I'm not so old."
Michael got to his feet and turned to the doctor behind him. "AD right,
Taylor, be's yours. Get him over to the field and have him taken to the
best facilities at Bethesda. And you get on the phone and tell those
mothers the White House wants the finest team of surgeons you've got ready
and waiting for this man."
"Yes, sir," said the doctor sardonically. "Anything else, Sir?"
"Oh, yes, physician. Prepare your bag of magic. You're about to go to
work."
Loring was carried out on a stretcher by two paramedics who had been
standing by; they were given firm instructions
588 ROBERT LUI)LXTM
by the doctor as they took away the wounded Cons Op agent.
Taylor turned to Havelock. "Do we start now?"
"What about the wounds?" asked Michael looking down at the naked man~s
taped, blood-streaked riiL arm and left foot.
"Your friend put tourniquets where they were needed, and I added adhesive;
the bleeding's arrested. Also, he was damned accurate. Bone was shattered,
but beyond the pain, nothing'11 drain him. Naturally, I gave him a couple
of locals to ease him, keep his head clear. "
"Will they interfere with the chemicals?"
"I wouldn't have administered them if they did."
"Then shoot him up, Doctor. I can't waste time."
Taylor went to his large black leather case, which was open and on a table
next to the window under the glow of a lamp. He studied the contents for
several moments, took out three vials and three cased syringes, and placed
them on the edge of the bed next to the naked man's thigh. The prisoner
raised his head, his features contorted, his eyes glazed, frenzied; he was
close to hysterics. Suddenly he began to writhe furiously, and muffled
animal-like howls came from his throat He stopped, overwhelmed by the pain
in his right arm, and gasping for breath, he stared at the ceiling. Then
abruptly he stopped breathing, holding the air in his lungs, his face be-
coming redder by the second ' eyes now bulging.
"What the hell is he-?"
"Get out of my wayl" shouted Havelock, pushing the doetor aside and
crashing his clenched fist down on the killer's bare stomach. The breath
exploded out of the traveler's bound mouth, and the eyes and flesh tone
began returning to normal.
"Jesw," said Taylor, rushing forward to steady the vials, which were about
to roll off the edge of the bed. "What was that?"
Youre dealing with something you may never have dealt Mth before, Doctor.
They're programmed like robots, killing whomever they're told to
kill-without any feeling at all, without the slightest concern. Not even
for themselves."
"Then he won't negotiate. I thought maybe if he saw these things, he
might."
"No way. He'd stall us, throw us off with every plausible
THE PARSIFAL MOSAJC589
lie in the books, and they know them all. They're masters of the craft.
Let's go, Doctor."
"How do you want to progress? In stages, which will bring him back one step
at a time, or do you want to chance a maximum? It's the fastest, but
there's a risk."
"What's the worst with it?"
"Incoherence. Disjointed rambling, no logical pattern."
"No logical . . . ? That's it. I'll chance the incoherence; just get hirn
away from any patterns that might trigger programmed responses."
"It doesn't work quite that way. The flow becomes formless; dissociation is
the first reaction. The key is to hit certain words-"
"You're saying everything I want to hear, Doctor, a
nd you're also wasting
time."
"You think so?' With the swiftness of a surgeon stemming a sudden internal
eruption, Taylor broke off a vial's tiny glass casing, inserted the
syringe, withdrew it, and plunged it into the traveler's thigh before the
bound man knew it was happening. The killer writhed violently, yanking at
the belts and the torn sheets in an effort to break them, rolling from side
to side as muffled cries filled the room. "The more be does that, the
quicker it'll take effect," added Taylor, pressing his hand on the side of
the stretched, whipping neck. "Only a minute or so."
Michael watched, fascinated and revolted, as he always was when observing
the effect of these chemicals on a human being. He had to remind himself
that this killer bad brutally taken the lives of men and women less than
three hours ago-bis own people and others, the guilty and the totally
innocent. How many would moum for them and never understand? And how many
were laid at the feet of one Michael Havelock, courtesy of Anton Matthias?
Two career officers, a young staff doctor, a younger nurse, a man named
Randolph, whose only crime was to try to right a terrible wrong.
Futility.
"He's about ready now," said Taylor, studying the filmy, partially closed
eyes of the prisoner, whose movements had contracted into slow, weaving
motions, accompanied by moans.
"You must be happy in your work, Doctor."
590 ROBEIRT LUDLUM
"I was always a nosy kid," answered the red-haired man, gently removing the
striped tie from the traveler's mouth. "Besides, someone's got to do it,
and Big Uncle paid for my medical degree. My old man couldn't swing a
bucket of suds In Paddy O'Rourke's saloon. nipay my debt and get out."
Havelock could not think of a reply any less tasteless than his comment, so
he leaned over the bed as Taylor backed awav. "May r begin?' be asked.
"Talk, hes your crossword puzzle."
"Orders'" began Michael, his band on the headboard, his lips near the
traveler's ear, his voice firm, steady, low. "Orders, orders, orders. None
of us can move without our ordersl But we have to he certain, we can~t make
a mistake. Who can clear our orders, clear our orders now?"
The prisoner's bead moved back and forth, his mouth~ alternately opening
Robert Ludlum - The Parcifal Mosaic.txt Page 74