In the new order this class of people would notbe subject to the corruptions of the marketplace. Inreality it was unusually well equipped to deal withsuch corruptions, for it could not be touched bythem. The mere presence of any illegally gainedwealth within its ranks would instantly be recognisedand condemned, resulting in courts-martial. Thisclass of society, this novel branch of the humanrace, was not only incorrupUble at the highestlevels, it would be the ultimate savior of mankind aswe know it today.
It was the military. The world over, evenencompassing one’s enemies. Together even asenemies they best understood the catastrophicresults of weakness.
To be sure, certain minor liberties wouldperforce have to be withheld from the body politic,but these were small sacrifices for survival. Whocould argue?
None of the four spokesmen for Aquitaineraised his voice. They were the quiet prophets ofreason, each with his own history, his own identityallies and enemies together in a world gone mad.
Converse responded in the affirmative toeverything that was said this was not difficult todo and asked abstract quesbons of philosophy, ashe was expected to do. Even the court
jester, Chaim Abrahms, became deeply serious andanswered Converses questions quietly
At one point Abrahms said, “You think we Jewsare the only ones in the Diaspora, my friend? Youare wrong. The whole human race is dispersedeverywhere, all of us locking rams’ horns and notknowing where to go. Certain rabbis claim we Jewsshall not see salvation until the Messianic era, thetime of divine redemption when a god will appear toshow us the way to our own promised land. He wasfar too late arriving we could not wait for Him anylonger. We created Israel. Do you see the lesson?We we here are now the divine intervention onearth. And I even I, a man of accomplishment andego will give up my life in silence so we maysucceed. “
Jacques-Louis Bertholdier: “You mustunderstand, Mr. Converse, that Voltaire said it bestin his Discours sur l’homme. Essentially he wrote thatman attained his highest freedom only when heunderstood the parameters of his behavior. We willestablish those parameters. Is anything more logical?
Erich Leilhelm: “Goethe said it perhaps betterwhen he insisted that the romance of politics wasbest used to numb and quell the fears of theuninformed. In his definitive Aus meinem Leben hestates clearly that all governing classes must beimbued above all with discipline. Where is it moreprevalent?”
Jan van Headmer: “My own country, sir, is theliving embodiment of the lesson. We took the beastout of the savage and formed a vast, productivenation. The beast returns and my nation is inturmoil.”
And so it went for several hours. Quietdissertations delivered thoughtfully, reflectively,passions apparent only in the deep sincerity of theirconvictions. Twice Joel was pressed to reveal thename of his client and twice he demurred, stating thelegal position of confidentiality which could changein a matter of days, perhaps less.
“I’d have to offer my client something concrete.An approach, a strategy that would warrant hisimmediate involvement, his commitment, if you will.”
“Why is that necessary at this juncture?” askedBertholdier. “You’ve heard our reasoning. Certainlyan approach can be discerned.”
“All right, scratch approach. A strategy, then. Notthe why but the how.”
“You ask for a plan?” said Abrahms. “On what
basis?”
“Because you’ll be asking for an investmentsurpassing anything in your experience.”
“That’s an extraordinary statement,” interjectedVan Headmer.
“He has extraordinary resources,” replied Converse.
“Very well,” said LeifLelm, glancing at each ofhis associates before he continued. Joel understood;permission was being sought based on priordiscussions. It was granted “What would you say tothe compromising of certain powerful individuals inspecific governments?”
“Blackmail?” asked Joel. “Extortion? It wouldn’twork There are too many checks and balances. Aman’s threatened the threat’s discovered and he’sout anyway. Then the purification rites set in, andwhere there was once weakness, suddenly there’s agreat deal of strength.”
“That’s an extremely narrow interpretation,” saidBertholdier.
“You do not take into consideration the timeelement!)’ cried Abrahms defiantly, for the firsttime raising his voice. “Accumulation, Converse!Rapid acceleration!”
Suddenly Joel was aware that the three othermen were looking at the Israeli, but not simplywatching him. In each pair of eyes was a warning.Abrahms shrugged. “It’s merely
“Well taken,” said Converse, without emphasis.
“I’m not even sure it applies,” added the Israeli,compounding his error.
“Well, I’m sure it’s time for dinner,” saidLeilhelm, removing his hand from the side of hischair. “I’ve boasted so much about my table to ourguest that I admit to a shortness ofbreath concern, of course. I trust the chef hasupheld my honor.” As if answering a signal whichJoel knew was the case the British manservantappeared beneath an archway at the far end of theroom. “I am clairvoyant!” Leifhelm rose. “Come,come, my friends. Saddle of lamb a citron, a dishcreated by the gods for themselves and stolen by theirrepressible thief who rules my kitchen.”
The dinner was indeed superb, each dish theresult of an isolated effort to achieve perfection inboth taste and presentation. Converse was nogourmet, his culinary education having been forcedon him in expensive restaurants where his mind wasonly mildly distracted by the food, but he instinc
tively knew when a dish was the best in its class.There was nothing second-rate about Leifhelm’stable, including the table itself, an enormous solidmass of mahogany supported by two huge butdelicately carved tripods resting on the intricateparquet floor. The deep-red velour walls in thehigh-ceilinged room were hung with oils of huntingscenes. The low candelabra in front of thesilver-mirrored place mats did not obstruct a guest sview of the person opposite, a feat Joel wished couldbe mastered by most of the hostesses in New York,London and Ceneva.
The talk veered away from the serious topicsexplored in the sitting room. It was as if a recess hadbeen called, a diversion to ease the burdens ofstatesmanship. If that was the aim, it was eminentlysuccessful, and it was the Afrikaner, Van Headmer,who led the way. In his soft-spoken, charming way(the dossier had been accurate the “unfeeling killer”was charming) he described a safari he had takenChaim Abrahms on in the veldt
“Do you realize, gentlemen that I bought thispoor Hebrew his first jacket at Safarics’ inJohannesburg and there’s never been a day when Ihaven’t regretted it. It’s become our great general’strademark! Of course, you know why he wears it. Itabsorbs perspiration and requires very little washingsimply large applications of bay rum. This is adifferent jacket, isn’t it, great general?”
“Bleach, bleach, I tell my wife!” replied the sabre,grimacing. “It takes out the smell of the godless slavetraders!”
“Talking of slaves, let me tell you,” said theAfrikaner warming to his story with a glass of wine,changed with each new course.
The story of Chaim Abrahms’ first and only safariwas worthy of good vaudeville. Apparently the Israelihad been stalking a male lion for hours with his gunbearer, a Bantu he constantly abused, not realizingthe black understood and spoke English as well ashe. Abrahms had zeroed in each of his four riflesprior to the hunt, but whenever he had the lion inhis sights, he missed. This supposedly superbmarksman, this celebrated general with the rifle-eyeof a hawk, could not hit eight feet of flesh a hundredyards away. At the end of the day an exhaustedChaim Abrahms, using broken English and amultiplicity of hand gestures, bribed the gun bearernot to tell the rest of the safari of his misses. Thehunter and the Bantu returned to camp, the hunterlamenting the nonexis
fence of cats and the stupidity of gun bearers. Thenative went to Van Headmer’s tent, and as theAfrikaner told it in perfectly-mimicked AnglicizedBantu, said the following: "I liked the lion morethan the Jew, sir. I altered his sights, sir, but appar-ently I will
be forgiven my indiscretion, sir. Amongother enticements, he has offered to have mebar-mitzvahed.”
The diners collapsed in laughter Abrahms, tohis credit, loudest of all. Obviously, he had heardthe story before and relished the telling. It occurredto Joel that only the most secure could listen tosuch telling tales about themselves and respond withgenuine laughter. The Israeli was a rock in thefirmament of his convictions and could easilytolerate a laugh on himself. That, too, wasfrightening.
The British servant intruded, walking silently onthe hard wood floor and spoke into ErichLeifhelm’s ear.
“Forgive me, please,” said the German, rising totake the call. “A nervous broker in Munich whoconsistently picks up rumors from Riyadh. A sheikgoes to the toilet and he hears thunder from theeast.”
The ebullient conversation went on without abreak in the flow, the three men of Aquitainebehaving like old comrades sincerely trying to makea stranger feel welcome. This, too, was frightening.Where were the fanatics who wanted to destroygovernments, ruthlessly grabbir g control and shack-ling whole societies, channeling the body politic intotheir vision of the military state? These were men ofintellect. They spoke of Voltaire and Goethe, andhad compassion for suffering and pain andunnecessary loss of life. They had humor and couldeven laugh at themselves while speaking calmly ofsacrificing their own lives for the betterment of aworld gone mad. ButJoel understood their truenature. These were interlopers assuming the mantelsof statesmen. What had Leifhelm said, quotingGoethe? “The romance of politics was best used tonumb and quell the fears of the uninformed.”
Frightening.
LeifLelm returned, followed by the Britishservant carrying two open bottles of wine. If the callfrom Munich had brought unfavorable news, theGerman gave no indication of it. His spirits were asbefore, his waxen smile at the ready and hisenthusiasm for the next course unbridled. “Andnow, my friends, the lamb d citron medallions ofambrosia and, hyperbole aside, actually rather good.Also, in honor of our guest we have a bonus thisevening. My astute English friend and
companion was in Siegburg the other day and ranacross several bottles of Beerenauslese, "What could be a more fitting tribute?”
The men of Aquitaine glanced at one another,then Bertholdier spoke. "Certainly a find, Erich. It’sone of the more acceptable German varieties.”
“ The ”82 Klausberg Riesling in Johannesburgpromises to be among the finest in years, " said VanHeadmer.
“I doubt it will rival the Richon-le-Zion Carmel,” added the Israeli.
“You are all impossible!”
A behatted chef rolled in a silver service cart,uncovered the saddle of lamb and, underappreciative looks, proceeded to carve and serve.The Englishman presented the various side dishes toeach diner, then poured the wine.
Erich Leifhelm raised his glass, the flickeringlight of the candles reflecting off the carved crystaland the edges of the silver-mirrored place mats. Toour guest and his unknown client, both of whom wetrust will soon be in our fold.”
Converse nodded his head and drank.
He took the glass from his lips, and was suddenlyaware that the four men of Aquitaine were staring athim, their own glasses still on the table. None haddrunk the wine.
LeifLelm spoke again, his voice nasal, cold, afury held in check by an intellect in control. "4General Delavane was the enemy, our enemy! Menlike that can’t be allowed anymore, can’t youunderstand!’ Those were the words, were they not,Mr. Converse?”
WhatP”Joel heard his voice but was not sure itwas his. The flames of the candles suddenly erupted,fire filled his eyes and the burning in his throatbecame an unbearable pain. He grabbed his neck ashe struggled out of the chair, hurling it back, heheard the crash, but only as a succession of echoes.He was falling. The pain surged into his stomach; itwas intolerable; he clutched his groin, franticallytrying to suppress the pain. Then he felt the chill ofa hard surface and somehow knew he was writhingwildly on the floor while being held in check bypowerful arms.
"The gun. Step back. Hold him.” The voice, too,was a series of echoes, though sharply enunciated ina searing British accent. “Now. Fire!”
The telephone rang, jolting Connal Fitzpatrickout of a deep sleep. He had fallen back on thecouch, the Van Headmer dossier in his hand, bothfeet still planted on the floor. Shaking his head andrapidly blinking and widening his eyes, he tried toorient himself. Where was he? What time it? Thephone rang again, now a prolonged, shatteringsound. He lurched off the couch, his breathingerratic, his exhaustion too complete to shake offina few seconds. He had not really slept sinceCalifornia; his body and mind could barely function.He grabbed the phone, nearly dropping it as hemomentarily lost his balance.
“Yes… hello!”
“Commander Fitzpatrick, if you please,” said amale voice in a clipped British accent.
“This Is he.”
“Philip Dunstone here, Commander. I’m callingfor Mr Converse. He wanted me to tell you that theconference is goings - well, far better than hethought possible.”
“Dunstone. Major Philip Dunstone. I’m senioraide to General Berkeley-Greene.”
“Berkeley-Greene?”
“Yes, Commander. Mr. Converse said to tell youthat along with the others he’s decided to acceptGeneral Leifhelm’s hospitality for the night. He’llbe in touch with you first thing in the morning.”
"Let me talk to him. Now.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. They’ve all goneout on the motor launch for a spin downriver.Frankly, they’re a secretive lot, aren’t they?Actually, I’m not permitted to attend theirdiscussions any more than you are.”
“I’m not settling for this, Major!”
“Really, Commander, I’m simply relaying amessage.
. . . Oh yes, Mr. Converse did mention that if youwere concerned I should also tell you that if theadmiral called, you were to thank him and give himhis regards.”
Fitzpatrick stared at the wall. Converse wouldnot bring up the Hickman business unless he wassending a message. The request made no sense toanyone but the two of them. Everything was all right.Also there could be several reasons why Joel did notcare to talk directly on the phone. Among them,thought Connal resentfully, was probably the factthat he didn’t trust his “aide” to say the proper wordsin the event their conversation was being overheard.
"AII right, Major . . . what was the name again?Dunstone?”
"That’s right, Philip Dunstone. Senior aide toGeneral Berkeley-Greene. “
“Leave word for Mr. Converse that I’ll expect tohear from him by eight o’clock.”
“Isn’t that a little harsh, old boy? It’s nearly twoA.M. now. The breakfast buffet usually starts aboutnine-thirty out here.”
“Nine o’clock, then,” said Fitzpatrick firmly.
“I’ll tell him myself, Commander. Oh, one finalthing. Mr. Converse asked me to apologize for hisnot having reached you by midnight. They’ve reallybeen at it hammer and tongs in there.”
That was it, thought Connal. Everything wasunder control. Joel certainly would not have madethat remark otherwise. “Thanks, Major, and by theway, I’m sorry I was rude. I was asleep and tried toget it together too fast.”
“Lucky chap. You can head back to the pillowswhile I stand watch. Next time you can take myplace.”
“If the food’s good, you’re on.”
“It’s not, really. A lot of pansy cooking, to tellyou the truth. Good night, Commander.”
“Good night, Major.”
Relieved, Fitzpatrick hung up the phone. Helooked over at the couch, thinking briefly of goingback to the dossiers but decided against it. He felthollow all over, hollow legs, hollow chest, a hollowache in his head. He needed sleep badly.
He gathered up the papers and took them intoConverse’s room. He placed them in the attachecase, locked it and turned the combination tumblers.Carrying the case, he went back into the sittingroom, checked the door, turned off the lights andheaded for his own bedroom. He threw the case
on the bed and r
emoved his shoes, then his trousers,but that was as far as he got. He collapsed on thepillows, somehow managing to wrap part of thebedspread around him. The darkness was welcome.
“That was hardly necessary,” said Erich Leifhelmto the Englishman, as the latter replaced the phone.“"Pansy cooking’ is not the way I would describe mytable.”
“He undoubtedly would,” said the man who hadcalled himself Philip Dunstone. “Let’s check thepatient.”
The two walked out of the library and down thehall to a bedroom. Inside were the three other menof Aquitaine along with a fourth, his black bag andthe exposed hypodermic needles denoting aphysician. On the bed was Joel Converse, his eyeswide and grasslike, saliva oozing from the sides ofhis mouth, his head moving back and forth as if ina trance, unintelligible sounds emerging from hislips.
The doctor glanced up and spoke. “There’snothing more he can give us because there is more,”said the physician. “The chemicals don’t lie. Quitesimply, he’s a blind sent out by men in Washington,but he has no idea who they are. He didn’t evenknow they existed until this naval officer convincedhim they had to exist. His only referrals wereAnstett and Beale.”
“Both dead,” interrupted Van Headmer. “Anstettis public, and I can vouch for Beale. My employeeon Santorini flew into Mykonos and confirmed thekill. There can be no trace incidentally. The Greekis back on the chalk cliffs selling laces and inflatedwhisky in his taverna.”
“Prepare him for his odyssey,” said ChaimAbrahms, looking down at Converse. “As ourspecialist in the Mossad put it so clearly, distance isnow the necessary requirement. A vast separationbetween this American and those who would sendhim out.”
Fitzpatrick stirred as the bright morning sunlightfrom the windows pierced the darkness andexpanding shades of white forced his eyelids open.He stretched, his shoulder digging into a hardcorner of the attache case, the rest of himconstricted by the bedspread, which was tangledabout his legs. He kicked it off and Hung his armson both sides of the bed, breathing deeply, feelingthe relaxed swelling of his chest. He swung his lefthand above his head, twisted his wrist
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