The Aquaintaine Progession

by Ludlum, Robert

  “Origin of transfer, please?” asked the blunt,corpulent executive.

  “Bank of Rhodes, Mykonos branch, waterfront office.The

  name of the dispatcher,’ I guess you’d call him, isLaskaris. I don’t recall his first name.”

  “Even his last is unnecessary,’ said the German,as though he did not care to hear it. The transactionitself seemed somehow to offend him.

  “Sorry, I just wanted to be helpful. As youknow, I’m in a great hurry. I have a plane to catch.’

  "Everything will be done according to theregulations, sir.”

  "Naturally.”

  The banker shoved a sheet of paper across thedesk. “You will write out your numerical signaturefive times, one below the other, as I read you theregulations which constitute the policy of the Bankaus der Bonner Sparkasse as they pertain to thelaws of the Federal Republic of Germany. You willthen be required to sign again in your numericalsignature an affidavit that you thoroughlyunderstood and accept these prohibitions.

  “I thought you said "regulations.’”

  “One and the same, sir.”

  Converse took the cablegram out of the insidepocket of his newly purchased sport jacket andplaced it beside the blank page of stationery. Hehad underlined the correct numbers and beganwriting.

  “"You the numerically undersigned, traceablefrom the origin of transfer,’” droned the obeseLachmann, leaning back in his chair and readingfrom a single page, ” ’swear to the fact thatwhatever funds withdrawn from the Bank aus derBonner Sparkasse from this confidential accounthave been subject to all taxes, individual andcorporate, from whatever sources of revenue. Thatthey are not being processed through differingcurrencies to avoid said taxes, or for the purpose ofmaking unlawful payments to individuals,companies, or corporations trafficking in illegaland

  “Forget it, Joel broke in. “I know it; I’ll sign it.

  “" egregious activities outside the laws of theFederal Republic of Germany or the laws of thenation of which the undersigned is a legal residentwith full citizenship.’

  “Ever tried half-full or resident alien status?said Converse, starting the last line of numbers. “Iknow a law student who could punch holes in thataffidavit.

  “There is more, but you say you ll sign?”

  “Im sure there s more and of course I’ll sign.” Joel

  pushed the page with the handwritten numbers backto the banker. “There. Just get me the money. Onehundred thousand American, minus your fee. Split ittwo thirds and a third. U.S. and Cenman, no billsover six hundred deutsche marks and five hundredAmerican.”

  “That is quite a bit of paper, sir.”

  “I’ll handle it. Please, as quickly as possible.”

  "Is that amount the entire account? I would notknow of course, until the scanners verify your’signature.’ “

  “It’s the entire account.”

  “It could take several hours, natu’rlich.”

  “What9″

  “The regulations, the policy. ” The fat manextended his arms in supplication.

  “I don’t have several hours!”

  “What can I do?” What can you do? A thousandAmerican for you.” One hour, sir.”

  “Five thousand?”

  “Five minutes, my good friend.”

  Converse walked out of the elevator. Theabrasive newly acquired money belt was far lesscomfortable than the one he had purchased inGeneva, but it would have been pointless to refuse it.It was a courtesy of the bank, Lachmann had said asthe German pocketed nearly twelve thousanddeutsche marks for himself. The "five minutes’ hadbeen a persuasive exaggeration, thought Joel as heglanced at the clock on the wall; it was nearlytwelve-forty-five. The ritual had taken over half anhour, from his “indoctrination” to the verification ofhis “signature” by electronic scanners capable ofdetecting the slightest “fundamental” variation in thewriting charactenstics. Apparently no one daredmake any mistakes in the German banks wherequestionable practices were concerned. Theregulations were followed right to the borders ofillegality, with everyone covered by following ordersthat placed the burden of innocence solely on therecipients.

  Converse started for the bronze-bordered doorsof the entrance when he saw the student,Johann,sitting on a marble bench, looking out of place butnot uncomfortable. The young man was readingsome sort of pamphlet put out by the bank. Or moreprecisely, he was pretending to read it; his eyes, dart-ing above the page, were watching the crowdscrisscrossing

  the marble floor. Converse nodded es Johann sawhim; the student got up from the bench and waiteduntil Joel reached the entrance before he began tofollow.

  Something had happened. Outside on thepavement people were rushing in both directions,but mainly to the right; voices were raised, questionsshouted, replies blurred with anger and angryignorance.

  "What the hell is it?” asked Converse.

  “I don’t know,” replied Johann, next to him.“Something ugly, I think. People are running to thekiosk on the corner. The newspapers.”

  “Let’s get one,” said Joel, touching the youngman’s arm, as they started toward the growingcrowd on the block.

  “Attentat! Mord!Amerikanische Botschafter ermordet!”

  The newsstand operators were shouting, handingout papers as they grabbed coins and bills with littleor no attempt to give change. There was a sense ofswelling panic that came with sudden unexplainedevents that presaged greater disasters. All aroundthem people were snapping papers, their eyesriveted on the headlines and the stories beneath.

  “Mein Gott!” cried Johann, glancing at a foldednewspaper on his left. “The American ambassadorhas been assassinated!”

  “Christ! Get one of those!” Converse threw anumber of coins into the kiosk as the youngGerman grabbed a paper from the extended hand ofa newsstand operator. “Let’s get out of here!” yelledJoel, gripping the student’s arm.

  But Johann did not move. He stood there in themiddle of the shouting crowd, staring at thenewspaper, his eyes wide, his lips trembling.Converse shoved two men away with his shouldersas he pulled the young man forward, now both ofthem surrounded by anxious, protesting Germansobsessed with getting to the newsstand.

  “You!” Johann’s scream was muted by someintolerable fear.

  Joel ripped the newspaper from the student’shands. In the upper canter of the front page werephotographs of two men. On the left was themurdered Walter Peregrine, American ambassadorto the Federal Republic. On the right was the faceof an American Rechtsanwalt one of the few wordsin German Converse knew; it meant attomey. Thephotograph was of himself.

  “No!” roared Joel, crushing the paper in his leftfist, his right hand gripping Johann’s shoulder.“Whatever it says, it’s a lie! I’m not any part of this!Don’t you see what they’re trying to do? Come onwith me!”

  “Rein!” the young German, looking franticallyaround, realising his voice was lost in the envelopingbedlam.

  “I said yes!” Converse shoved the newspaper insidehis jacket, and throwing his right arm aroundJohann’s neck, pulled him alongside. “You can thinkand do what you like, but first you come with me!You’re going to read me every goddamned word!”

  “Da ist er! Der Affentater!” shrieked the youngGerman, reaching out, clutching the trousers of aman in the crowd who cursed and swung his armdown on the offending hand.

  Joel wrenched the student’s neck to his left, andshouted into his ear, his words stunning himself asmuch as they did the young man. “You want it thisway, you can have it! I’ve got a gun in my pocket andif I have to use it I will! Two decent men have beenkilled already now three why should you be theexception? Because you’re young? That’s no reason!When you come right down to it, who the hell are wedying for?”

  Converse yanked the youth back and forth,dragging him out of the crowd. Once on the clearpavement he released his armlock, replacing it with astrong grip on the back of Johann’s neck. Hepropelled the student forward, his eyes roving thestreet, trying to find a secluded area where they couldta
lk where Johann could talk, after reading a stringof lies put out by the men of Aquitaine. Thenewspaper slipped down beneath his jacket; hereached in and grabbed it by the edge, pulling thepaper out intact. He could not just keep walking,pushing his captive down the pavement; several peo-ple had glanced at them, fuel for the curious. Oh,Christ! The

  photograph hisJace! Anyone might recognize him,and he was calling attention to himself by keepingthe boy in tow.

  Up ahead, on the right, there was a bakery or acoffee shop or a combination of both with tablesunder umbrellas on the sidewalk; several wereempty at the far end. He would have preferred adeserted alley or a cobblestoned side street toonarrow for vehicles, but he could not keep doingwhat he was doing walking so rapidly with aprisoner in his grip.

  “Over there! That table in the rear. You sitfacing out. And remember, I wasn’t joking about thegun, my hand will be in my pocket. ”

  “Please, let me go! You’ve done enough to me!My friends know we left together last night; mylandlady knows I got you a room! The police willquestion me!”

  “Get in there,” said Converse, shoving Johannbetween the chairs to the table at the rear of thepavement. Both sat down; the young German wasno longer trembling, but his eyes were darting in alldirections. “Don’t even think about it,” continuedJoel. “And when a waiter comes over, speak inEnglish. Only English!”

  “There are no waiters. Customers go inside andbring out their own sweet rolls and coffee.”

  “We’ll do without you can get something later.I owe you money and I pay my debts.”

  . . . I always pay my debts. At least during the lastfour years I have. Words from a note left by arisk-taker. An actor named Caleb Dowling.

  “I want no money from you,” saidJohann, hisEnglish guttural with fear.

  " You think it’s tainted, makes you a true accessory,is that

  “You are the lawyer, I am merely a student.”

  “Let me set you straight. It’s not tainted becauseI didn’t do whatever they said I did, and there’s nosuch thing as an accessory to innocence.”

  “You are the lawyer, sir.”

  Converse pushed the newspaper in front of theyoung German and with his right hand reached intohis pocket where he had put ten thousand deutschemarks in ascending denominations for his immediateuse. He counted out seven thousand and reachedover, placing it in front of Johann. “Put that awaybefore I shove it down your throat.”

  “I will not take your money!”

  “You’ll take it and tell them I gave it to you, ifyou want to. They’ll have to give it back.”

  "What do you mean?”

  "The truth, counselor. You’ll find out one daythat it’s the best shield you’ve got. Now, read mewhat the paper saysI”

  ““The ambassador was killed sometime lastnight,’” began the student haltingly as he awkwardlyput the deutsche marks in his pocket. “. . . Theapproximate time of death is difficult to establishuntil further examinations,’” he continued, translatingthe words in the article in fits and starts, trying tofind the appropriate meanings. ” ”. . . The fatalwound was . . . “Scha’del’ cranial, a head wound ”thebody in the water for many hours, washed up on theriverbank in the Plittersdorf and found early thismorning…. The military charge d’affaires was quotedas saying that the last person known to have beenwith the ambassador was an American by the nameof Joel Converse. When that name appeared, therewere . . .’ ” The young German squinted, shaking hishead nervously. “How do you say it?”

  “I don’t know,” said Joel coldly, his voice flat.“What am I trying to say?”

  ““. . . very excited’ frantic ”communicationsbetween the governments of Switzerland, France andthe Federal Republic, all in coordination with theInternational Criminal Police, otherwise known asInterpol, and the . . . pieces of the tragic . . . Ratsel. . . puzzle fell into place,’ became clear, it means."Unknown to Ambassador Peregrine, the AmericanConverse has been the object of an Interpol . . .Suche. . . search as a result of killings in Geneva andParis as well as several attempted murders not yetclarified.’ ” Johann looked up at Converse. There wasa throbbing in his throat.

  “Go on,” ordered Joel. “You don’t know howenlightening this is. Go on″

  “"According to the ambassador’s office, aconfidential meeting was arranged at the request ofthis man Converse, who claimed to have informationinjurious to American interests and which hassubsequently proven to be false. The two men wereto meet at the entrance of the Adenauer Bridgebetween seven-thirty and eight o’clock last evening.The charge d’affaires who accompanied AmbassadorPeregrine confirmed that the two men met atseven-fifty-one P.M. and started across the bridge onthe pedestrian walkway. It was the last time anyonefrom the embassy saw the ambassador

  alive.’ ” Johann swallowed, his hands trembling. Hetook several deep breaths and went on, his eyesrushing forward across the print, beads ofperspiration breaking out on his hairline. Below aremore complete . . . eingehendere . . . details as theyare known, but a statement issued by Interpoldescribed the suspect, Joel as an apparently normalman who is in reality a … wandernde….’” The youngGerman lowered his voice to a whisper. “"a walkingexplosive with severe mental disturbances. He isjudged by several behavioral experts in the UnitedStates to be psychopathically ill as a result of nearlyfour years as a prisoner of war during the Vietnamconflict….’”

  As Johann stammered on, frightened by his ownvoice, the telling words and damning phrases camewith staccato regularity, backed up by hastilycontacted departmental “sources” and unnamed,faceless "authorities.” The portrait was that of amentally deranged man who had been thrown backin time, his derangement triggered by some violentevent that left him with his intelligence intact butwithout moral or physical control. In addition,Interpolts search for him was spoken of in cloudedterms, implying a secret manhunt that had been inprogress for a number of days, if not weeks.

  ” ". . . His homicidal tendencies are channeled,’” continued the now near-panicked student as thearticle quoted another “authoritative” source. ” . . .He has a pathological hatred for present or formerhigh-ranking military personnel, especially thosewho had gained prominent public stature. . . .Ambassador Peregrine was a celebrated battalioncommander in World War Two’s Bastognecampaign, during which many American lives werelost…. Authorities in Washington have speculatedthat the disturbed man, who after several harrowingattempts finally escaped from a maximum-securitycamp in North Vietnam years ago, traveling over ahundred miles through enemy. . . Dschungel . . .jungle to reach his lines, is reliving his ownexperiences…. His jusfffication forsurvival according to a military psychiatrist is thekilling of superior officers, past or present, whogave orders in combat, or, in the extreme, evencivilians who in his imaginings bore someresponsibility for the suffering he and othersendured. Yet he is outwardly a normal man, as somany like him…. Guards have been placed inWashington, London, Brussels, and here in Bonn….As an international law

  yer,whois presumed to have access to numerouscriminal elements who deal in illegal passports . . .’”

  It was a brilliantly executed trap, the crucial liessupported by truths, half-truths, distortions andcomplete falsehoods. Even the precise timing of theevening was considered. The charge d’affaires at theembassy stated unequivocally that he had seen Joelat the Adenauer Bridge “at 7:51 P.M.,”approximately twenty-five minutes after he hadbroken out of the stone jailhouse on Leifhelm’sestate, and less than ten minutes after he hadplunged into the Rhine. Every fragment of the hourwas accounted for. That he was "officially” placed atthe bridge by 7:51″ denied his story of capture andescape any credibility.

  The incident in Geneva the death of A. PrestonHalliday was introduced as a possible explanationfor the violent act that had hurled him back in time,triggering Joel’s maniacal behavior. “. . . It has beenlearned that the attorney who was shot to death hadbeen a well-known leader in the American protestmovement in the sixties….” The veiled conclusionwas that Converse might
have hired the killers. Eventhe death of the man in Paris was given a verydifferent and far more important dimension oddlyenough, based in reality. “. . . Initially the victim’strue identity was withheld in hopes of aiding themanhunt, as suspicions were aroused as a result ofan interview the Surete had with a French lawyerwho has known the suspect for a number of years.The attorney who had lunched with the suspect thatday indicated that his American friend was in’serious troubles and needed ”medical attention.’ . ..” The dead man in Paris, of course, was an out-standing colonel in the French Army, and an aidesuccessively to several “prominent generals.”

  Finally, as if to convince any remainingunbelievers in this public trial by “authoritative”journalism, references were made not only to hisconduct but to the remarks he made upon hisseparation from service over a decade and a halfago. These were released by the United StatesDepartment of the Navy, Fifth Naval District, whichincluded its own recommendation at the time thatone Lieutenant Converse be placed under voluntarypsychiatric observation; it was refused. His conducthad been insulting in the extreme to the panel ofofficers who wished only to help him, and hisremarks were nothing short of violent threats againstnumerous

  high-ranking military personnel, whom, as a carrierpilot, he could have known nothing about.

  It all completed the portrait as painted by theartists of Aquitaine. Johann finished the article, thenewspaper now clutched in his hands, his eyes wideand frightened. “That s all there is . . . sir.”

  “I d hate to think there’s any more,” said Joel.“Do you believe it?”

  “I have no thoughts. I’m too frightened to think.”

  “That s an honest answer. Uppermost in yourmind is the fact that I might kill you, so you can’tface what you think. That’s what you’re really saying.You’re afraid that by a look or a wrong word Icould take offence and pull a trigger.”

  “Please, sir, I am not adequate!”

  “Neither was I.”

  “Let me go. “