found in San Francisco. A morass of complex, highlyquestionable transactions that could not bearintense scrutiny.”
Bertholdier’s eyes were fixed, too controlled. “Iwould know nothing about such things, of course,”he said.
“Of course,” agreed Converse. “But the fact thatmy client does through me and the additional factthat neither he nor I have any desire whatsoever tocall attention to them must tell you something.”
“Frankly, not a thing.”
“Please, General. One of the first principles offree enterprise is to cripple your competition, stepin, and fill the void.”
The soldier drank, gripping the glass firmly. Helowered it and spoke. “Why did you come to me?”
“Because you were there.”
“What?”
“Your name was there among the morass, waydown deep, but there.”
Bertholdier shot forward. “Impossible! Preposterous!”
“Then why am I here? Why are you here?” Joelplaced his glass on the table by the chair, themovement that of a man not finished speaking. “Tryto understand me. Depending upon whichgovernment department a person’s dealing withcertain recommendations are bound to be helpful.You wouldn’t do a damn thing for someoneappealing to Housing and Urban Development, butover at the State Department’s Munitions Controlsor at Pentagon procurements, you’re golden.”
“I have never lent my name to any such appeals.”
“Others did. Men whose recommendationscarried a lot of weight, but who perhaps neededextra clout.”
“What do you mean? This "clout.’”
“A final push for an affirmativedecision without any apparent personalinvolvement. It’s called support for an actionthrough viable second and third parties. Forinstance, a memo might read: “We’ thedepartment, not a person ”don’t know much aboutthis, but if a man like General Bertholdier isfavorably disposed, and we are informed that he is,why should we argue?’”
“Never. It could not happen.”
“It did,” said Converse softly, knowing it was themoment to bring in reality to support hisabstractions. He would be able to tell instantly ifBeale was right, if this legend of France wasresponsible for the slaughter and chaos in the citiesand
towns of a violently upended Northern Ireland. “Youwere there, not often but enough for me to find you.Just as you were there in a different way when ashipment was air-freighted out of Beloit, Wisconsin,on its way to Tel Aviv. Of course it never got there.Somehow it was diverted to maniacs on both sides inBelfast. I wonder where it happened? Montreal?Paris? Marseilles? The Separatists in Quebec wouldcertainly follow your orders, as would men in Parisand Marseilles. It’s a shame a company namedSolidaire had to pay off the insurance claim. Oh, yes,you’re a director of the firm aren’t you? And it’s soconvenient that insurance carriers have access to themerchandise they cover.”
Bertholdier was frozen to the chair, the musclesof his face pulsating, his eyes wide, staring at Joel.His guilt was suppressed, but no less apparent forthat control. “I cannot be lieve what you areimplying. It’s shocking and incredible!”
“I repeat, why am I here?”
“Only you can answer that, monsieur,” saidBertholdier, abruptly getting to his feet, the brandyin his hand. Then slowly, with military precision, heleaned over and placed the glass on the coffee table;it was a gesture of finality the conference was over.“Quite obviously I made a foolish error,” he contin-ued, shoulders square again and head rigid, but nowwith a strained yet oddly convincing smile on his lips.“I am a soldier, not a businessman; it is a latedirection in my life. A soldier tries to seize aninitiative and I attempted to do just that; only, therewas there is no initiative. Forgive me, I misreadyour signal this afternoon.”
“You didn’t misread anything, General.”
“Am I contradicted by a stranger I might evensay a devious stranger who arranges a meetingunder false pretenses and proceeds to makeoutrageous statements regarding my honor and myconduct? I think not.” As Bertholdier strode acrossthe room toward the hallway door Joel rose from hischair. “Don’t bother, monsieur, I’ll let myself out.You’ve gone to enough trouble, for what purpose Ihaven’t the faintest idea.”
“I’m on my way to Bonn,” said Converse. “Tellyour friends I’m coming. Tell them to expect me.And please, General, tell them not to prejudge me.I mean that.”
“Your elliptical references are most annoyingLieutenant. It was "lieutenant,’ wasn’t it? Unless youalso deceived poor Luboque as well.”
“Whatever deception employed to meet you canonly be for his benefit. I’ve offered to write a legalopinion for his case. He may not like it, but it’ll savehim a lot of pain and money. And I have notdeceived you.”
“A matter of judgment, I think.” Bertholdierturned and reached for the outsized brass knob.
“Bonn, Germany,” pressed Joel.
“I heard you. I haven’t the vaguest notion whatyou “
“Leifhelm,” said Converse quietly. “Erich Leifhelm.”
The soldier’s head turned slowly; his eyes werebanked fires, the coals glowing, about to erupt atthe merest gust of wind. “A name known to me, butnot the man.”
“Tell him I’m coming.”
“Good night, monsieur,” said Bertholdier,opening the door, his face ashen.
Joel raced into the bedroom, grabbed hissuitcase and threw it on the luggage rack. He had toget out of Paris. Within hours, perhaps minutes,Bertholdier would have him watched, and if he wasfollowed to an airport, his passport would exposethe name Simon as a lie. He could not let thathappen, not yet.
It was strange, unsettling. He had never had anyreason to leave a hotel surreptitiously, and he wasnot sure he knew how to do it only that it had tobe done. The altering of the registration card hadbeen done instinctively, there were occasions whenlegal negotiations had to be kept quiet for every-one’s benefit. But this was different it wasabnormal. He had said to Beale on Mykonos that hewas going to become someone he was not. It was aneasy thing to say, not at all easy to do.
His suitcase packed, he checked the batterycharge on his electric razor and absently turned iton, moving it around his chin, as he walked to thebedside telephone. He shut the switch off as hedialed, unsure of what he would say to the nightconcierge but nevertheless instinctively orienting hismind to a business approach. After initial remarks,mutually flattering, the words came.
“There’s an extremely sensitive situation, and myfirm is anxious that I leave for London just as soonas possible and as discreetly as possible. Frankly,I would prefer not to be seen checking out.”
“Discretion, monsieur, is honored here, and haste isa
normal request. I shall come up and present your billmyself. Say, ten minutes?”
“I’ve only one piece of luggage. I’ll carry it, butI’ll need a cab. Not in front.”
“Not in front, of course. The freight elevator,monsieur. It connects below with our corridor fordeliveries. Arrangements will be made.”
“I ve made arrangementst” said Bertholdierharshly into the limousine’s mobile phone, the glasspartition between him and the chauffeur tightly shut.“One man remains in the gallery in sight of theelevators, another in the cellars where the hotelsupplies are brought in. If he attempts to leaveduring the night, it is the only other exit available tohim. I’ve used it myself on several occasions.”
“This . . . is all most difficult to absorb.” Thevoice on the line spoke with a clipped British accent,the speaker obviously astonished, his breathingaudible, a man suddenly afraid. “Are you sure?Could there be some other linkage?”
“Imbecile! I repeat. He knew about the munitionsshipment from Beloit! He knew the routing, even themethod of theft. He went so far as to identifySolidaire and my position as a board member! Hemade a direct reference to our business associate inBonnl Then to Tel Aviv . . .lohannesburgl Whatother linkage could there be?”
“Corporate entanglements, perhaps. One can’trule them out. Multinational subsidiaries,
munitionsinvestments, our associate in West Germany also sitson several boards…. And the locations money poursinto them.”
“What in the name of God do you think I’mtalking about? I can say no more now, but what I’vetold you, my English flower, take it to be the worstl”
There was a brief silence from London. “Iunderstand,” said the voice of a subordinate rebuked.
“I hope you do. Get in touch with New York. Hisname is Simon, Henry Simon. He’s an attorney fromChicago. I have the address; it’s from the hotel’sregistration file.” Bertholdier squinted under theglare of the reading lamp, haltingly deciphering thenumbers and the numbered street written down byan assistant bell captain, well paid by one of thegeneral’s men to go into the office and obtaininformation on the occupant of suite two-three-five.“Do you have that?”
“Yes.” The voice was now sharp, a subordinate aboutto
redress a grievance. Was it wise to get it that way?A friend or a greedy employee might tell himsomeone was inquiring about him.’
“Really, my British daffodil? An innocuousbellboy checking the registry so as to post a lostgarment to a recent guest?”
Again the brief silence. " Yes, I see. You know,Jacques, we work for a great cause a businesscause, of course more important than either of us,as we did once years ago. I must constantly remindmyself of that, or I don’t think I could tolerate yourinsults.”
And what would be your recourse, I’Anglais?”
"To cut your arrogant Frog balls off in TrafalgarSquare and stuff them in a lion’s mouth. Therepository wouldn’t have to be large; an ancientcrack would do. I’ll ring you up in an hour or so.”There was a click and the line went dead.
The soldier lowered the mobile phone in hishand, and a smile slowly emerged on his lips. Theywere the best, all of theml They were the hope, theonly hope of a very sick world.
Then the smile faded, the blood again drainingfrom his face, arrogance turning into fear. What didthis Henry Simon want, really want? Who was theunknown man with access to extraordinarysources planes, vehicles, munitions? What in God’sname did they know?
The padded elevator descended slowly, itsinterior designed for moving furniture and luggage,its speed adjusted for room-service deliveries. Thenight concierge stood beside Joel, his face pleasantlyimpassive; in his right hand was the leather boursecontaining a copy of Converse’s bill and the francnotes covering it as well as a substantial gratuityfor the Frenchman’s courtesy.
A slight whirring sound preceded the stop; thepanel light shone behind the letters sou-so", andthe heavy doors parted. Beyond in the wide hallwaywas a platoon of whitejacketed waiters, maids,porters and a few maintenance personnelcommandeering tables racks of linens, luggage andassorted cleaning materials. Loud, rapid chatter,heightened by bursts of laughter and gutturalexpletives, accompanied the bustling activity. At thesight of the concierge there was a perceptiblelessening of volume and an increase of concentratedmove
meet, along with nods and fawning smiles directed atthe man who, with the flick of a pen, could eliminatetheir jobs.
“If you’ll just point me in the right direction, I llbe on my way,” said Joel, not wishing to call furtherattention to himself in the company of the concierge."I’ve taken up too much of your time.”
“Merct. If you will follow that corridor, it will leadto the service exit,” replied the Frenchman, pointingto a hallway on the left, beyond the bank ofelevators. “The guard is at his desk and is aware ofyour departure. Outside in the alley, turn right andwalk to the street; your taxi is waiting for you.”
“I appreciate my firm appreciates yourcooperation. As I mentioned upstairs, there’s nothingreally that secretive, or unusual just sensitive.”
The hotel man’s impassive countenance did notchange, except for a slightly sharper focus in his eyes.“It is of no matter, monsieur, an explanation is notrequired. I did not request it, and if you’ll forgiveme, you should not feel an obligation to offer one.Au rewir, Monsieur Simon.”
“Yes, of course,” said Converse, maintaining hiscomposure though he felt like a schoolboyadmonished for speaking out of turn, for offering ananswer when he had not been called upon. “See younext time I’m in Paris.”
“We await the day, monsieur. Bonsotr.”
Joel turned quickly, making his way through theuniformed crowd toward the hallway, apologisingwhenever his suitcase made contact with a body. Hehad just been taught a lesson, one he should nothave had to learn. He knew it in a courtroom and inconference: Never explain what you don’t have to.Shut up. But this was not a court or a conference. Itwas, it suddenly dawned on him, an escape, and therealization was a little frightening, certainly verystrange. Or was it? Escape was in his vocabulary, inhis experience. He had tried it three times before inhis life years ago. And death had been everywhere.He put the thought out of his mind and walked downthe corridor toward the large metal door in thedistance.
He slowed down; something was wrong. Ahead,standing in front of the security desk talking to theguard was a man in a light-colored topcoat. Joel hadseen him before but he did not know where; then theman moved and Converse began to remember animage came back to him. Another man had movedthe same way taking several steps backward before
turning to disappear from an archway, and now hemoved the same way to cross the corridor to leanagainst the wall. Was it the same man? Yes! It wasthe one who had accompanied Bertholdier to thedining-room entrance of L’Etalon Blanc. Thesubordinate who had taken leave of a superior thenwas here now under orders from that same superior.
The man looked up, the flash of recognitioninstantly in his eyes. Stretching, he raised himself tohis full height and turned away, his hand slowlymoving toward the fold in his coat. Converse wasstunned. Was the man actually reaching for a gun ?With an armed guard barely ten feet away? It wasinsane! Joel stopped; he considered racing back intothe crowd by the elevators but knew it was pointless.If Bertholdier had posted a watchdog in thebasement, others would be upstairs, in the corridors,in the lobby. He could not turn and run; there wasno place to go, nowhere to hide. So he keptwalking, now faster, directly toward the man in thelight-brown topcoat, his mind confused, his throattight.
“There you arel”he cried out loud, not sure thewords were his. “The general told me where to findyour”
The man stood motionless, in shock, speechless.“Le general2″ he said, barely above a whisper. “He .. . tell you?”
The man’s English was not good, and that wasvery good. He could understand, but not well.Rapidly spoken words, persuasively delivered, mightget them both out the door. Joel turned to theguard while angling his attache case into hiscompanion’s back. “My name’s Simon. I believe theconcierge spoke to you about me.”
The juxtaposition of the name and the title wassufficient for the bewildered guard. He glanced athis papers, nodding. “One monsieur. Le concierge . ..”
“Come on!” Converse shoved the attache caseinto the man in the topcoat, propelling him towardthe door. “The general’s waiting for us outside. Let’sgal Hurry up!”
“Le general . ?” The man’s hands instinctivelyshot out at the crash bar of the exit door, in lessthan five seconds he and Joel were alone in thealley. “Que se passe-toil? Oil est le general?… Where?”
“Here! He said to wait here. You. You’re towait here! Ici!”
“Arre^tez!” The man was recovering. He stoodhis ground. Thrusting his left hand out, he pushedConverse back against the wall. With his right handhe reached into his overcoat.
“Don’t!” Joel dropped his attache case, grippinghis suitcase and pulling it up in front of him, aboutto rush forward. He stopped. The man did not pullout a gun; instead, what he had was a thinrectangular object bound in black leather, fromwhich a long metallic needle rose from the narrowflat top. An antenna . . . a radial
All thought was blurred for Converse, but heknew he had to act instantly only mobon counted.He could not permit the man to use that radio,alerting those with other radios elsewhere in
thehotel. With a sudden surge of strength he rammedhis suitcase into the man’s knees, tearing the radioaway with his left hand, whipping his right arm outand over the man’s shoulder. He crooked his elbowaround the Frenchman’s neck as he spun on thepavement. Then without thinking, he yankedBertholdier’s soldier forward, so that both of themhurtled toward the wall, and crashed the man’s headinto the stone. Blood spread throughout theFrenchman’s skull, matUng his hair and streakingdown his face in deep-red rivulets. Joel could notthink, he could not allow himself to think. If he did,he would be sick and he knew it. Mobon, ma lion!
The man went limp. Converse angled theunconscious body by the shoulders, propelling itagainst the wall, shoving it away from the metal doorand letting it drop in the farther shadows. He leaneddown and picked up the radio; he snapped off theantenna and shoved the case into his pocket. Hestood up, confused, frightened, trying to orienthimself. Then, grabbing his attache case and suitcase,he raced breathlessly out of the alley, conscious ofthe blood that had somehow erupted over part of hisface. The taxi was at the curb, the driver smoking acigarette in the darkness, oblivious to the violencethat had taken place only thirty yards away.
“De Gaulle Airport!’ shouted Joel, opening thedoor and throwing his luggage inside. “Please, I’m ina hurry!” He lurched into the seat, gasping, his neckstretched above the cushioned rim, swallowing the airthat would not fill his lungs.
The rushing lights and shadows that bombardedthe interior of the cab served to keep his thoughtssuspended, allowing his racing pulse to decelerateand the air to reach him, slowly drying theperspiration at his temples and his neck. He leanedforward, wanUng a cigarette but afraid he wouldvomit from the smoke trapped in his throat. He shuthis eyes so tightly a thousand specks of white lightassaulted the dark
screen of his mind. He felt ill, and he knew it wasnot simply fear alone that had brought on thenausea. It was something else, something that was inand of itself as paralysing fear. He had committedan act of utter brutality, and it both shocked andappalled him. He had actually physically attacked aman, wanUng to cripple him, perhaps killhim which he may very well have done. No matterwhy, he may have killed another human being! Didthe presence of a hand-held radio justify a shatteredskull? Did it constitute self-defence? Goddamn it, hewas a man of words, of logic, not blood! Neverblood, that was in the past, so long ago and sopainful.
The Aquaintaine Progession Page 12