“I don’t understand.”
“He’s the ambassador here in Bonn. Can youimagine with all the troubles they’ve got over here,that diplomatic yo-yo had a luncheon for me, alousy television actor? WeD the suggestion that Imight call the ambassador made our preppie moreupset than anything else; he didn’t expect it. Hesaid three times, as I recall that the ambassadorwasn’t to be bothered with this problem. It wasn’tthat important and he had enough on his mind, andactually he wasn’t even aware of it. And catch this,Mr. Lawyer. He said you were an in-house, StateDepartment “query,’ as if a simpleminded actorcouldn’t possibly understand bureaucratic jingoism.I think that’s when I said ”BuDshit.’”
" Thank you,” said Converse, not knowing whatelse to say, but knowing what he wanted to find out.
“That’s also when I figured my instincts weren’tso bad.” Dowling looked at his watch, then hard atConverse, his eyes now penetrating. “I was a gyrene,but I’m no fiag-waver, good buddy. However, I likethe flag. I wouldn’t live under any other.”
“Neither would I.”
“Then you make it plain. Are you working for it?”
“Yes, the only way I know how, and that’s ad I canted
you.”
“Are you looking into something here in Bonn?Is that why you didn’t want to be seen with me?Why you stayed away from me in Hamburg andeven getting off the plane here?
“Yes.”
“And that son of a bitch didn’t want me to callthe ambassador.”
" No, he didn’t. He doesn’t. He can’t afford it.And, please, I ask you not to.”
“Are you Oh, Christ! Are you one of thoseundercover people I read about? I walk into a guyon a plane who can’t be seen when he gets to anairport.”
“It’s not that melodramatic. I m a lawyer andsimply following up on some alleged irregularities.Please accept that And I appreciate what you did forme. I’m kind of new at this
“You’re cool, good buddy. Man, are you cool.”Dowling turned and walked to the door. He stoppedand looked back at Converse. “Maybe I’m crazy,” hesaid. “At my age it’s allowed, but there’s a streak inyou, young fella. Part go-ahead partstay-where-you-are. I saw it when I talked about mywife. Are you married?”
“I was.”
“Who isn’t? Was married, that is. Sorry.”
“I’m not. We’re not.”
“Who is? Sorry, again. My instincts were right.You’re okay.” Dowling reached for the knob.
“Cal?”
“Yes?”
“I have to know. It’s terribly important. Who wasthe man from the embassy? He must have identifiedhimself.”
“He did, " said the actor. “He pushed an ID infront of my face when I opened the door, but Ididn’t have my glasses on. But when he was leavingI made it clear I wanted to know who the hell hewas.”
“Who was he?”
“He said his name was Fowler. Avery Fowler.”
“Wait!”
“What?”
“What did you say?” Converse reeled under theimpact
of the name. He physically had to steady himself,grabbing the nearest solid object, a bedpost, to keepfrom buckling.
“What’s the matter, Joe? What’s wrong with you?”
“That name! Is this some kind of joke a badjoke a bad line! Were you put on that plane? DidI walk into you? Are you part of it, Mr. .4ctor?You’re damned good at what you do!
“You’re either juiced or sick. What are youtalking about?”
" This room, your note! Everything! That name!Is this whole goddamned night a setup?’
“It’s morning, young man, and if you don’t likethis room you can stay wherever you like as far asI’m concerned.”
“Wherever . . . 4″ Joel tried to evade theblinding flashes of light from the Quai du MontBlanc and clear the searing blockage in his throat.“No . . . I came here,” he said hoarsely. “There’s noway you could have known I’d do that. In Copen-hagen, on the plane . . . I got the last ticket in firstclass, the seat next to me had been sold, an aisleseat.”
“That’s where I always sit. On the aisle.”
“Oh, Jesus!”
“Now you’re rambling.” Dowling glanced at theempty glass on the bedside table, then over at thebureau top where there was a silver tray and abottle of Scotch whisky provided by anaccommodating desk clerk. “How much sauce haveyou had?”
Converse shook his head. “I’m not drunk…. I’msorry. Christ, I’m sorry) You had nothing to do withit. They’re using you trying to use you to find me!You saved my . . . my job . . . and I went after you.Forgive me.”
“And you don’t look like someone who’s thatworried about a job,’ said the actor, his scowl moreone of concern than anger.
“It’s not the employment, it’s . . . pulling it off.Joel silently took a deep breath to control himself,postponing the moment when he would have toconfront the awesome implicabons of what he hadjust heard. Avery Fowler! “I want to succeed in whatI’m doing; I want to win,” he added limply, hopingto conceal the slip he saw Dowling had spotted. “Alllawyers want to win.”
“Sure. ”
“I am sorry, Cal.”
“Forget it,” said the actor, his voice casual, his looknot
casual at all. “Where I’m at these days screeching’san hourly occurrence only, they don’t say anything.I think you just did.”
“No, I overreacted, that’s all. I told you I wasnew at this. Not the law, just this . . . not talkingdirectly, I guess says it.”
“Does it?”
“Yes. Please believe that.”
“All right, if you want me to.” Dowling againlooked at his watch. “I’ve got to go, but there’ssomething else that might be helpful in savingthat” the actor paused convincingly “job of yours."
“What is it?” asked Converse tightly, trying not toleap at the question.
“As this Fowler was leaving I had a couple ofthoughts. One was that I’d been pretty hard on afellow who was simply doing his job, and the otherwas just plain selfish. I hadn’t cooperated, and thatcould come back and snap me in the ass. Of courseif you never showed up here, I’d get my note backand it wouldn’t matter. But if you did, and you worea black hat, my tail could be in a bucket of boilinglead.”
“That should have been your first concern,” saidJoel truthfully.
“Maybe it was, I don’t know. At any rate, I toldhim that in the course of our conversation I askedyou for drinks, to come out on location if youwanted to. He seemed puzzled at the last part, buthe understood the first. I asked whether I should callhim at the embassy if you took me up on eitherinvitation, and he said no, I shouldn’t do that.”
“What9″
“In short words, he made it very plain that mycalling him would only louse up this "in-house query.’He told me to wait for his call. He’d phone mearound noon.”
“But you’re filming. You’re on location.”
“That’s the beauty part, but the hell with it.There are mobile telephone hookups; the studiosinsist on them these days. It’s another kind ofscreeching called budgetary controls. We get ourcalls.”
“You’re losing me.”
“Then find me. When he calls me, I’ll call you.Should I tell him you reached me?”
Surprised, Converse stared at the aging actor, therisk-taker. “You’re way ahead of me, aren’t you?”
“You’re pretty obvious. So was he, when I put ittogeth
er which I just did. This Fowler wants to reachyou, but he wants to do it solo, away from thosepeople you don’t want to meet. You see, when hewas at the door and we had our last words, I wasbothered by something. He couldn’t sustain therole any more than you did on the plane but Icouldn’t be certain. He kind of fell apart on his exit,and that you never do even if you’ve got to hold ina sudden attack of diarrhea. . . . What do I tell him,Joe?”
“set his telephone number, I guess.’,
“Done. You get some sleep. You look like acoked-up starlet who’s just
been told she’s going toplay Medea.”
“I’ll try.”
Dowling reached into his pocket and took out ascrap of paper. “Here,” he said approachingConverse and handing it to him. “I wasn’t sure I wasgoing to give this to you, but I damn well want youto have it now. It’s the mobile number where youcan reach me. Call me after you’ve talked to thisFowler. I’m going to be a nervous wreck until I hearfrom
you.”
“I give you my word…. Cal, what did you meanwhen you mentioned "the beauty part’ andforgetting about it?”
The actor’s head shifted back in perfectprecision, at just the right angle for anyone in theaudience. “The son of a bitch asked me what I didfor a living…. As they say in the Polo Lounge, Ciao,baby.”
Converse sat on the edge of the bed, his headpounding, his body tense. Avery Fowler! Jesus!Avery Preston Fowler Halliday! Press Fowler . . .Press Halliday! The names bombarded him, piercinghis temples and bouncing off the walls of his mind,screaming echoes everywhere. He could not controlthe assault; he began to sway back and forth, hisarms supporting him, a strange rhythm emerging,the beat accompanying the name names of theman who had died in his arms in Geneva. A man hehad known as a boy, the adult a stranger who hadmanipulated him into the world of George MarcusDelavane and a spreading disease called Aquitaine.
This Fowler wants to reach you, but he wants todo it solo, awayfrom those people you don "t want tomeet…. The judgment of a risk-taker.
Converse stopped rocking, his eyes on theLeifhelm dossier on the floor. He had assumed theworst because it was beyond his comprehension, butthere was an alternative, an out
side possibility, perhaps under the circumstanceseven a probability. The geometries were there; hecould not trace them but they were there! The nameAvery Fowler meant nothing to anyone but him atleast not in Bonn, not as it pertained to a murder inGeneva. Was Dowling right? Joel had asked theactor to get the man’s telephone number, but with-out conviction. The image of a dark-red limousinedriving through the embassy’s gates would not leavehim. That was the connection that had enveloped theshock of Avery Fowler’s name. The man using it wasfrom the embassy, and at least part of the embassywas part of Aquitaine, therefore the impostor waspart of the trap. That was the logic; it was simplearithmetic . . . but it was not geometry. Supposethere was a break in the line, an insertion fromanother plane that voided the arithmeticprogression? If there was, it was in the form of anexplanation he could not possibly perceive unless itwas given to him.
The shock was receding; he was finding hisequilibrium again. As he had done so many times incourtrooms and boardrooms, he began to accept thetotally unexpected, knowing he could do trothingabout it until something else happened, somethingover which he had no control. The most difficultpart of the process was forcing himself to functionuntil it did happen, whatever it was. Conjecture wasfutile; all the probabilibes were beyond hisunderstanding.
He reached down for the LeifLelm dossier.
Erich Leifhelm’s years with the Bundesgren-zschutz were unique and require a word about theorganizahon itself. In the aftermath of all wars, asubjugated national police force is required in anoccupied country for reasons ranging from thesimple language problem to the occupying power’sneed to understand local customs and traditions.There must be a buffer between the occupationtroops and a vanquished people so as to maintainorder. There is also a side issue rarely elaboratedupon or analyzed in the history books, but no lessimportant for that lack. Defeated armies can skillpossess talent, and unless that talent is utilized thehumiliation of defeat can ferment, at minimumdistilling itself into hostilities that arecounterproduchve to a stabilised political climate, or,at maximum, turning into internal subver
sionthat can lead to violence and bloodshed atthe expense of the victors and whatever newgovernment that is being formed. To put itbluntly, the Allied General Staff recognized thatit had on its hands another brilliant andpopular military man who would not suffer theanonymity of early retirement or a corporateboardroom. The Bundesgrenzschutz literally,federal border police like all policeorganisations, was and is a paramilitary force,and as such the logical repository for men likeErich Leifhelm They were the leaders; better touse them than be abused by them. And asalways among leaders, there are those few whosurge forward, leading the pack. During theseyears foremost among those few was ErichLeifhelm.
His early work with the Grenzschutz wasthat of a military consultant during the massiveGerman demobilisation, then afterward thechief liaison between the police garrisons andthe Allied occupation forces. Followingdemobilisation, his duties were mainlyconcentrated in the trouble spots of Vienna andBerlin where he was in constant touch with thecommanders of the American, British andFrench sectors. His zealous anti-Soviet feelingswere rapidly made known by Leifhelmthroughout the command centers and dulynoted by the senior officers.. More and more hewas taken into their confidence until as it hadhappened before with the Prussians he wasliterally considered one of them.
It was in Berlin where Leifhelm first camein contact with General Jacques-LouisBertholdier. A strong friendship developed, butit was not an association either one cared toparade because of the age-old animositiesbetween the German and French militaries. Wewere able to trace only three former officersfrom Bertholdier’s command post whoremembered or would speak of seeing thetwo men frequently at dinner together inout-of-the-way restaurants and cafes, deep inconversation, obviously comfortable with eachother. Yet during those occasions whenLeifhelm was summoned to Frenchheadquarters in Berlin, the formalities wereicily proper, with names rarely used and
certainly never first names, only ranks and titles. Inrecent years, as noted above, both men have deniedknowing each other personally, albeit admitting theirpaths may have crossed.
Where previously acknowledgment of theirfriendship was discouraged because of traditionalprejudices, the current reasons are far more under-standable. Both are spearheads in the Delavaneorganization. The names on the primary list are therewith good reason. They are influential men who siton the boards of multinational corporations that dealin products and technology ranging from the buildingof dams to the construction of nuclear plants; inbetween are a hundred likely subsidiaries throughoutEurope and Africa which could easily expedite salesof armaments. As detailed in the following pages, itcan be assumed that Leifhelm and Bertholdiercommunicate through a woman named Ilse Fishbeinin Bonn. Fishbein is her married name, the marriageitself questionable in terms of motive insofar as itwas dissolved years ago when Yakov Fishbein, asurvivor of the camps, emigrated to Israel. FrauFishbein, born in 1942, is the youngest illegiti: matedaughter of Hermann Goring.
Converse put down the dossier and reached fora memo pad next to the telephone on the bedsidetable. He then unclipped from his shirt pocket thegold Carher ball-point pen Val had given him yearsago and wrote down the name Ilse Fishbein. Hestudied both the pen and the name. The Cartierstatus symbol was a remembrance of better days no,not really better, but at least more complete. Valerie,at his insistence, had finally quit the New Yorkadvertising agency, with its insane hours, and gonefree-lance. On her last day of formal work, she hadwalked across town to Cartier and spent a con-siderable portion of her last paycheck for his gift.When he asked her what he had done outside of hismeteoric rise in Talbot, Brooks and Simon to deservea gift of such impractical opulence, she had replied:“For making me do what I should have done a longtime ago. On the other hand, if free-lancing doesn’tpay off, I’ll steal it back and pawn it…. What the hell,you’ll probably lose it.”
Free-lancing had paid off very well, indeed, andhe had never lost the pen.
Ilse Fishbein gave rise to another kind ofthought. As much as he would like to confront her,it was out of the question. Whatever ErichLeifLelm knew had been provided by Bertholdier inParis and relayed by Frau Fishbein here in Bonn.And the communication obviously contained adetailed description as well as a warning; theAmerican was dangerous. Ilse Fishbein, as a trustedconfidante in Aquitaine, could undoubtedly lea
dhim to others in Germany who were part ofDelavane’s network, but to approach her was to askfor his own . . . whatever it was they intended forhim at the moment, and he was not ready for that.Sbil, it was a name, a piece of information, a facthe was not expected to have, and experience hadtaught him to keep such details up front and revealthem, spring them quietly when the moment wasright. Or use them himself when no one waslooking. He was a lawyer, and the ways of adversarylaw were labyrinthine; whatever was withheld wasno-man’s-land. On either side, to the more patient,the spoils.
Yet the temptation was so damned inviting. Thebloodline of Hermann Goring involved with thecontemplated resurrection of the generals! InGermany. Ilse Fishbein could be an immediatemeans of unlocking a floodgate of unwantedmemories. He held in his hand a spiked club; themoment would come when he would swing it.
Leifhelm’s commanding duties in the field withthe West German NATO divisions lasted seventeenyears, whereupon he was elevated to SHAPE head-quarters, near Brussels, as military spokesman forBonn’s interests.
Again his tenure was marked by extremeanti-Soviet postures, frequently at odds with his owngovernment’s pragmatic approach to coexistencewith the Kremlin, and throughout his final monthsat SHAPE he was more often appreciated by theAnglo-American right-wing factions than by the po-litical leadership in Bonn.
It was only when the chancellor of the FederalRepublic concluded that American foreign policy inthe early eighties had been taken out of the handsof professionals and usurped by bellicose ideologues
that he ordered Leifhelm home and created aninnocuous post for the soldier to keep him atbay.
Leiftelm, however, had never been a gulliblefool, nor was he one now in his new, improvisedstatus. He understood why the politicians hadcreated it it showed recognition of his ownsubtle strengths. People everywhere were lookingto the past, to men who spoke clearly, withcandor, and did not obfuscate the problemsfacing their countries and the world, especiallythe Western world.
The Aquaintaine Progession Page 19